They have painted a miracle-shawl
Of cobwebs and whispering shadows,
And trellised leaves that ripple on a wall.
They have broidered a tissue of cost,
Spun foam of the sea
And lilied imagery of the vanishing frost.
Her floating skirts have run
Like iridescent marshes,
Or like the tossed hair of a stormy sun.
Her silver cloak has shone