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.