Among your jewel-lit maidens there,

A sweet and ghostly queen,

And the scent of attar flung

In your marble font seems proving

That passion never can die from love,

If truly love has been.

[Pg 34]

Under the Indian stars

He comes, "the Shadow of Allah,"

Jehan, the lord of Magnificence,

The liege who holds your heart.

The silver doors swing back

And alone with him you hallow

The amorous night—whose moon has made

Such visions in me start.

Under the Indian stars—

But the end of all is moaning!

I hear his dying breath that from

Your Tomb shall never die.

For every jasper flower

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