Here is a peasant
Who might command
Her velvet train into
A queen's hand.

Her dusky velvets,
Her starry train,
She slips into
When night comes again.

Though princes followed her
All the day's light,
She would steal away to dance
With the stars by night.

All day, weaving
In an attic loom;
And all night, royal
In a throne-room.

Jewels must seem trifles;
Rather dull, a crown,
If one divides star-dances
After sun-down.