Some three, or five, or seven, and thirty years;
A Roman nose; a dimpling double-chin;
Dark eyes and shy that, ignorant of sin,
Are yet acquainted, it would seem, with tears;
A comely shape; a slim, high-coloured hand,
Graced, rather oddly, with a signet ring;
A bashful air, becoming everything;
A well-bred silence always at command.
Her plain print gown, prim cap, and bright steel
Look out of place on her, and I
Absorbed in her, as in a pleasant mystery.
Quick, skilful, quiet, soft in speech and touch . . .'Do you like nursing?' 'Yes,
Sir, very much.'Somehow,
I rather think she has a history.
