A maiden, with a garland on her head,
Sat in her bower between two lovers: one
Wore such a wreath as hers; the other none.
But him, in merry wise, she garlanded
With that she wore; then, gaily, took instead
The other's wreath and wore it as her own;
Whereat both smiled, each deeming she had shown
Himself the favourite. Though she nothing said
Concerning this by any spoken word,
Yet by her act, methinks, the maid preferred
The lover she discrowned. A friendly thing
Or whimsical-no more-the gift she gave,
(A queen might do as much by any slave),
But he whose crown she wore was her heart's king.