Thy pledge has passed, divine.

[Pg 31]

Woe! there is naught but ashes,

Now, and the weepers go.

Lone on the ghat they leave me, lone,

With but the River's flow.

Kali, I ask not jewels

Nor justice, beauty nor shrift,

But for the lowest woman's right,

A child—tho I die of the gift!

[Pg 32]

[Pg 32]

BY THE TAJ MAHAL

Under the Indian stars,

Mumtaz Mahal, I am sitting,

Watching them wind their silent way

Over your wistful Tomb;

Watching the crescent prow

Of the moon among them flitting,

Fair as the shallop that bore your soul

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