There is great colour in the air, and the clouds are as a trodden wine-press in the west.

The old sun, the golden bowl of life, is touching earth's lips, and soon there will be none of the wine of light left in him.

She will drink it all.

Yet your lover tarries, Margaret, and comes not.
Margaret and Lady Victoria agreed they would dine together.

Indeed, Margaret had a little headache, for she was weary.