Ann in chill moonlight unlocks

Her polished brassbound treasure-box,

Draws a soft breath, prepares to spread

The toys around her on the bed.

She dips for luck: by luck pulls out

A silver pig with ring in snout,

The sort that Christmas puddings yield;

Next comes a painted nursery shield

Boy-carved; and then two yellow gloves,

A Limerick wonder that Ann loves,

Leather so thin and joined so well

The pair fold in a walnut shell;

Here's patchwork that her sister made

With antique silk and flower brocade,

Small faded scraps in memory rich

Joined each to each with feather-stitch;

Here's cherry and forget-me-not

Ribbon bunched in a great knot;

A satin purse with pansies on it;

A Tudor baby's christening bonnet;

Old Mechlin lace minutely knit

(Some woman's eyes went blind for it);

And Spanish broideries that pinch

Three blossomed rosetrees to one inch;

Here are Ann's brooches, simple pins,

A Comet brooch, two Harlequins,

A Posy; here's a great resplendent

Dove-in-bush Italian pendant;

A Chelsea gift-bird; a toy whistle;

A halfpenny stamped with the Scots thistle;

A Breguet watch; a coral string;

Her mother's thin-worn wedding ring;

A straw box full of hard smooth sweets;