She'd thought about his eyes but had not known He thought of her in secret, too, until The day they picked arbutus on the hill She remembered how the other three had gone Into the pasture, but she'd found a stone To rest on from her climbing and sat still And told him daringly that he could fill Her basket for her now they were alone. What he had said to that she could not tell But she remembered a boy's mouth had been New to her then and quite incredible. She had run home and washed her own lips clean And lain awake that night till very late Troubled by this sensation she called hate. |