And seeing her so sweet and serviceable,
Geraint had a longing in him evermore
To stoop and kiss the tender little thumb, 395
That crost the trencher as she laid it down:
But after all had eaten, then Geraint,
For now the wine made summer in his veins,
Let his eye rove in following, or rest
On Enid at her lowly handmaid-work, 400
Now here, now there, about the dusky hall;
Then suddenly addrest the hoary Earl: