play.

For a while stood Birdalone silent, blushing and confused, but whiles
casting shy glances at her own body, what she might see of it. At
last she spake: Fair friend, I would do thy will, but I am not deft
of speech; for I speak but little, save with the fowl and wild
things, and they may not learn me the speech of man. Yet I will say
that I wonder to hear thee call me fair and beauteous; for my dame
tells me that never, nor sayeth aught of my aspect save in her anger,
and then it is: Rag! and bag-of-bones! and when wilt thou be a
woman, thou lank elf thou? The new-comer laughed well-favouredly
hereat, and put forth a hand, and stroked her friend's cheek.
Birdalone looked piteous kind on her and said: But now I must needs
believe thy words, thou who art so kind to me, and withal thyself so
beauteous. And I will tell thee that it fills my heart with joy to
know that I am fair like to thee. For this moreover I will tell
thee, that I have seen nought in field or woodland that is as lovely
to me as thou art; nay, not the fritillary nodding at our brook's
mouth, nor the willow-boughs waving on Green Eyot; nor the wild-cat
sporting on the little woodlawn, when she saw me not; nor the white
doe rising up from the grass to look to her fawn; nor aught that
moves and grows. Yet there is another thing which I must tell thee,
to wit, that what thou hast said about the fashion of any part of me,
that same, setting aside thy lovely words, which make the tears come
into the eyes of me, would I say of thee. Look thou! I take thine
hair and lay the tress amongst mine, and thou mayst not tell which is
which; and amidst the soft waves of it thy forehead is nestling
smooth as thou saidst of mine: hawk-grey and wide apart are thine
eyen, and deep thought and all tenderness is in them, as of me thou
sayest: fine is thy nose and of due measure; and thy cheeks a little