Since Saxon days, these men had sought their brides Among the
highest born, but always so,
Taking them to themselves, their wealth, their lands, But never
their titles. Stern perhaps, but strong,
The Framptons fed their blood from richest streams, Scorning
the common throng.
Gazing upon these men, she understands
The toughness of the web wrought from such strands
And pride of Everard colours all her dreams.
XXI
Eunice forgets to eat, watching their faces Flickering
in the wind-blown candles shine.
Blue-coated lackeys tiptoe to their places, And set out plates
of fruit and jugs of wine.
The table glitters black like Winter ice. The Dartles rushing,
and the gentle clash
Of blossomed branches, drifts into her ears. And
through the casement sash
She sees each cherry stem a pointed slice
Of splintered moonlight, topped with all the spice
And shimmer of the blossoms it uprears.
XXII
In such a night -- she laid the book aside, She
could outnight the poet by thinking back.
In such a night she came here as a bride. The date was graven
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