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Updated: June 27, 2025
He found her in a white cymar of silk lined with furs, her little feet unstockinged and hastily thrust into slippers; her unbraided hair escaping from under her midnight coif, with little array but her own loveliness, rather augmented than diminished by the grief which she felt at the approaching moment of separation.
No monster and no giant guard the bower In whose recess reclined the fairy light, Robed in a loose cymar of lily white, And on her lap a sword of breadth and might, In whose broad blade, as in a mirror bright, Like maid that trims her for a festal night, The fairy deck'd her hair, and placed her coronet aright.
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