Drank in the rain-cooled air. With low-breathed words,
They whispered long together, while, o'erhead,
From rain-wet branches rang the song of birds.
The maiden often paused as in alarm;
Then, with uncertain, half-delaying pace,
She left Christine, returning in a space
With Philip, Christine's brother, a young squire,
Who strode by her with careless, swinging arm
And eager face, with keen, blue eyes afire.
Then all three stood, with whispering heads bent low,