That autumn into autumn flash’d again,
And there he stood once more before her face,
Claiming her promise. ‘Is it a year?’ she ask’d.
‘Yes, if the nuts’ he said ‘be ripe again:
Come out and see.’ But she—she put him off— 460
So much to look to—such a change—a month—
Give her a month—she knew that she was bound—
A month—no more. Then Philip with his eyes
Full of that lifelong hunger, and his voice
Shaking a little like a drunkard’s hand, 465