She crouched beneath the rowan
To blow the embers red:
And redder than the embers
Was the kerchief round her head.

Red berries on the rowan;
Red embers in the fire;
But redder was the kerchief
That kindled his desire.

He halted on the roadway,
And whistled to her twice:
But the black eyes 'neath the kerchief
Turned his hot blood to ice.