The slush is ankle-deep in the street
Outside; and the night is a flurry of sleet.
On slime-dank flags of the market she stands,
Serving with purple chilblained hands
Clammy and slithery soles, as she
Has stood the whole day patiently,
A squat broad bundle, fat and old,
With body and mind benumbed with cold.

And yet, when I caught the glint of her eye,
I saw a sprig of a lass, half-shy,
Half-cheeky, who stood on the edge of the sea,
As the boats came in, and smiled to me —
A slip of a lass, with the curve of a sail,
As she leant her body against the gale,
And a head that tossed its hair like spray
In the light of the windy break of day.

And I know that bundle of clothes holds yet
The heart of a girl who cannot forget.