And the ice, with an unwonted warmth of greeting,
Slapt me suddenly and hard upon the back.
I didn't mind your laughing, if the laughter
Had left no sting of scorn to rankle after.
Though I'd joyously have flung myself before you
To adore you,
Still to sit with all one's might upon the ice
Isn't nice.
When I met you in the lordly local ball-room,
Where you queen'd it, the suburban world's desire,