205 THE DOORSTEP. To see the girls come tripping past Not braver he that leaps the wall But no, she blushed and took my arm! I can't remember what we said, 'Twas nothing worth a song or story, Yet that rude path by which we sped Seemed all transformed and in a glory. The snow was crisp beneath our feet, The moon was full, the fields were gleaming; By hood and tippet sheltered sweet Her face with youth and health was beaming. The little hand outside her muff. O sculptor, if you could but mould it! So lightly touched my jacket-cuff, To keep it warm I had to hold it. To have her with me there alone 'Twas love and fear and triumph blended: |