A poet!
Shepherd
Nay, a simple swain
That tends his flock on yonder plain,
Naught else, I swear by book and bell.
But she that passed—you marked her well.
Was she not smooth as any be
That dwell herein in Arcady?
Pilgrim
Her skin was as the satin bark
Of birches.
Shepherd
Light or dark?
Pilgrim
Quite dark.
Shepherd