She sits beneath the trellised vine
Beside the open door;
Warm arabesques of sunlight shine
Along the checkered floor.
Her busy needles wink and glance
As still her task she plies;
By bordered walks the midges dance;
Above, the swallow flies.
Her face is calm; her eyes are meek;
About her smooth young throat,
And lightly blown o'er either cheek,
The silken tendrils float.
Beneath the snow-white kerchief spread
Across her placid breast,
Unvexed by change or darkling dread,
Her spirit lies at rest.
Peace is her world; no thought of ill,
Nor breath of sordid strife,
E'er taints the pure desires that fill
Her cool hushed round of life.
Afar the city roars; there sweeps
The long white way that gleams
For other feet; she sits and keeps
Alone her quiet dreams.