Page:Oriental Sketches Dramatic Sketches and Tales.pdf/232

Rh

Amid the braided tresses shone Pale flowers exhaling scented breath, Like coronals we strew upon The friend we lose by early death. She was not dead who corse-like prest That couch of care; but the moon's light Ne'er could on one more heart-struck rest Than her who caught the beam that night.

And there was one of gentle mood Who watched that pale and prostrate form; And as in musing grief she stood And marked the wreck of one wild storm, She fancied that the moon looked down With pitying eye upon the bed, Where like a lily overthrown The smitten mourner drooped her head.