She clothed herself in dreams all magical--Did ever Princess in a tale of oldShow half so daintily and rare as sheA lily exquisite--all white and gold?
Or like a shadowed tree, mysterious:Eyes dark as pools where fallen stars do sleep;A dim white face and smile inscrutable,And hair whose strands a subtle fragrance keep.
With little hands so white and slim, yet strongTo take a heart and break it--willed she so--And moods when laughter bubbled in the throatAnd love was answered with a teasing, "No."
She hung a silver mirror in her heartAnd in her dreams paced slowly there and smiled;While other shadows thronging, paid her court,And all who looked upon her were beguiled.
A little smile strays on her unkissed lips.So drab and dull she looks, and yet it seemsAs though some pale joy lingers in her life--Unloved she sits, and clothes herself in dreams.
