Lo! a web of fairy lightness like the misty robe she wore, Swiftly grew beneath her fingers, drifting downward to the floor!
And as Rena looked and wondered, inch by inch the marvel grew, Till the eastern windows brightened as the gray dawn struggled through.
Then the lady’s hand touched Rena’s, and she pointed far away, Where the palace towers were gleaming in the first red light of day.
But when once again the maiden turned her glance within the room, With the lady fair had vanished all the splendor and perfume.
Still the satin cushion lay there, quaintly fashioned, strangely set With the silver pins that spanned it like a branching coronet;
Still the light web she had woven lay in drifts upon the floor, Like the mist wreaths resting softly on some lone, enchanted shore!
III.
Slowly Rena raised the cushion, with her sweet eyes shining clear, Lightly tossed the fairy bobbins, half in gladness, half in fear.
Ah! not vain had been her watching as the lovely lady wrought; All the magic of her fingers her own cunning hand had caught!
Many a day above the cushion Rena’s peerless head was bent, And through many a solemn night she labored on with sweet intent.