XXXI.

'Twas love's low amber afternoon. Two far-off pheasants thrummed a tune, A cricket clanged a restful air. The dreamful billows beat a rune Like heart regrets. Around her head There shone a halo. Men have said 'Twas from a dash of Titian That flooded all her storm of hair In gold and glory. But they knew, Yea, all men know there ever grew A halo round about her head Like sunlight scarcely vanished.