"Yes, I thought of it when you told me you had been named from a beautiful poem. But I couldn’t say it then. I didn’t know you well enough." "Have you said it since? Do you know it all?" "I read it when I got home yesterday. I know it all now." "Say it to me." He said it right through, slowly, and softly, dwelling on the name Viola—Viola—with many gradations of his flexible voice, and she thought she had never heard anything more beautiful than the way he uttered it. Sometimes her eyes rested on the waters of the pool, but more often on him, but his were on her all the time: THE MAKING OF VIOLA I _The Father of Heaven_ Spin, daughter Mary, spin, Twirl your wheel with silver din; Spin, daughter Mary, spin, Spin a tress for Viola. _Angels_ Spin, Queen Mary, a Brown tress for Viola! II _The Father of Heaven_ Weave, hands angelical, Weave a woof of flesh to pall— Weave, hands angelical— Flesh to pall our Viola. _Angels_ Weave, singing brothers, a Velvet flesh for Viola! III _The Father of Heaven_ Scoop, young Jesus, for her eyes, Wood-brown pools of Paradise— Young Jesus, for the eyes, For the eyes of Viola. _Angels_ Tint, Prince Jesus, a Dusked eye for Viola! IV _The Father of Heaven_ Cast a star therein to drown, Like a torch in cavern brown, Sink a burning star to drown Whelmed in eyes of Viola. _Angels_ Lave, Prince Jesus, a Star in eyes of Viola! V _The Father of Heaven_ Breathe, Lord Paraclete, To a bubbled crystal meet— Breathe, Lord Paraclete— Crystal soul for Viola. _Angels_ Breathe, Regal Spirit, a Flashing soul for Viola! VI _The Father of Heaven_ Child-angels, from your wings Fall the roseal hoverings, Child-angels, from your wings On the cheeks of Viola. _Angels_ Linger, rosy reflex, a Quenchless stain, on Viola! VII _All things being accomplished, saith the Father of Heaven:_ Bear her down, and bearing, sing, Bear her down on spyless wing, Bear her down, and bearing, sing, With a sound of Viola. _Angels_ Music as her name is, a Sweet sound of Viola! VIII Wheeling angels, past espial, Danced her down with sound of viol; Wheeling angels, past espial, Descanting on "Viola." _Angels_ Sing, in our footing, a Lovely lilt of "Viola." IX Baby smiled, mother wailed, Eastward while the sweetling sailed; Mother smiled, baby wailed, When to earth came Viola. _And her elders shall say:_ So soon have we taught you a Way to weep, poor Viola!