Beauty's Wardrobe

My love said she had nought to wear; Her garments all were old, And soon her body must go bare Against the winter's cold. I took her out into the dawn, And from the mountain's crest Unwound long wreaths of misty lawn, And wound them round her breast. Then passed we to the maple grove, Like a great hall of gold, The yellow and the red we wove In rustling flounce and fold. 'Now, love,' said I, 'go, do it on! And I would have you note No lovely lady dead and gone Had such a petticoat.' Then span I out of milkweeds fine Fair stockings soft and long, And other things of quaint design That unto maids belong. And beads of amber and of pearl About her neck I strung, And in the bronze of her thick hair The purple grape I hung. . . . Then led her to a glassy spring, And bade her look and see If any girl in all the world Had such fine clothes as she.