There was no sleep for her the live-long night, but she went swiftly to a place she knew of, where the wistaria drooped over a still pool. She plucked her sprays and tendrils and brought home as much as she could carry. The wistaria was white and purple, and you must know it was not yet in flower, but hidden in the unopened bud. From it she wove magically a robe. She fashioned sandals also, and a bow and arrows.
In the morning she waked the God of Spring.
“Come, my son,” she said, “let me put this robe on you.”
The God of Spring rubbed his eyes. “A sober suit for courting,” he said. But he did as his mother bade him. And he bound the sandals on his feet, and slung the bow and the arrows in their quiver on his back.
“Will all be well, my mother?” he said.
“All will be well, beloved,” she answered him.
So the God of Spring came before the Fairest of the Fair. And one of her maidens laughed and said:
“See, mistress, there comes to woo you to-day only a little plain boy, all in sober grey.”
But the Fairest of the Fair lifted up her eyes and looked upon the God of Spring. And in the same moment the wistaria with which he was clothed burst into flower. He was sweet-scented, white and purple from head to heel.
The Princess rose from the white mats.