A long, rich breadth of Holland lace,
A window by a Flemish sea;
Huge men go by with mighty pace,—
Great Anne was Queen these days, may be,
And strange ships prowled for spoil the sea—
For you—old lace!
Stitch after stitch enwrought...
A silver birch-tree like a sacred maid
Set with a guard of stalwart hemlocks round,
Whose low-toned airs stole by with sighing sound,
Stirred, shivering slightly, as if half afraid
Where the black shadow crept along the ground.
Breathless she stood,—as one...
It ’s only we, Grimalkin, both fond and fancy free,
So do your best, my beauty, for a home for you and me;
For you the oats and leisure, for me the pipe and book,
With sometimes, just at sunset, the long gray eastward look.
For once there was another: ah, Kathrine...
