She had drawn rein within the castle court

Under its arching gateway, and there stood,

Curbing the hot steed that, with upreared hoofs,

Bearing upon the gilded bit, pressed forward.

Her eyes had measured distance, and her lips,

Parted and eager, seemed to drink the air

Now fresh with morning, and her light form kept

Its throne exultingly. A single plume

Waved from her hunting-cap, and the quick wind

Close to the floating ringlets of her hair

Pressed down its snowy fringes. But the folds

Of her rich dress hung motionless, and its hem

Swept to the shaven turf. Near by, a page

Held in a leash of greyhounds, and a hawk

Sat hooded on the bend of her gloved wrist.