She is foremost of those that I would hear praised.

    I have gone about the house， gone up and down

    As a man does who has published a new book，

    Or a young girl dressed out in her new gown，

    And though I have turned the talk by hook or crook¹

    Until her praise should be the uppermost theme，

    A woman spoke² of some new tale she had read，

    A man confusedly in a half dream

    As though some other name ran in his head.

    She is foremost of those that I would hear praised.

    I will talk no more of books or the long war

    But walk by the dry thorn until I have found

    Some beggar sheltering from the wind， and there

    Manage the talk until her name come round.

    If there be rags enough he will know her name

    And be well pleased remembering it， for in the old days，

    Though she had young men‘s praise and old men’s blame，

    Among the poor both old and young gave her praise.

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