In the middle of the chamber stood a lady fair and sweet, With bright tresses falling softly to her small and sandalled feet.
Flushed her cheeks were as a wild rose, and the glory of her eyes Was the laughing light and glory of the kindling morning skies.
Airy robes of lightest tissue from her white arms floated free; They seemed woven of the mist that curls above the azure sea,
Wrought in curious devices, star and wheel and leaf and flower, That, like frost upon a window-pane, might vanish in an hour.
In her hands she bore a cushion, quaintly fashioned, strangely set With small silver pins that spanned it like a branching coronet;
And from threads of finest texture swung light bobbins to and fro, As the lady stood illumined in the weird and wondrous glow.
Not a single word she uttered; but, as silent as a shade, Down the room she swiftly glided and beside the startled maid
Knelt, a radiant vision, smiling into Rena’s wondering eyes, Giving arch yet gracious answer to her tremulous surprise.
Then she laid the satin cushion on the wondering maiden’s knee, And to all her mute bewilderment, no syllable spake she.
But, as in and out and round about, the silver pins among, Flashed the white hand of the lady, and the shining bobbins swung,