Got Art?

She went merely to think she help’d;
And, whilst he hack’d and saw’d,
The rich Squire’s son, a young boy then,
Whole mornings, as if awed,
Stood silent by, and gazed in turn
At Gerald and on Maud.

He sometimes, in a sullen tone
He offer’d fruits, and she Received them always with an air
So unreserved and free,
That shame-faced distance soon became
Familiarity.