Is a heat-hidden tomb, and on it just

A few faint blades of bent and grieving grass.

"Jehanara's it is," with ready mouth

A Moslem tells the stranger, "once she said,

'The covering of the poor is only grass,

Let it be mine alone when I am dead.'"

And who has stood there, where about her Rest

Rise high Imperial tombs, knows hers is best.

[Pg 80]

[Pg 80]

A SINGHALESE LOVE LAMENT

As the cocoanut-palm

That pines, my love,

Away from the sound

Of the planter's voice,

Am I, for I hear

No more resound

Your song by the pearl-strewn sea!

The sun may come

And the moon wax round,

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