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 Wouldst thou have sought and loved me had I been Ill-favoured, say, as my poor slave, Aziz?'

"Ah, poor indeed! I heard nor cared no more, Shivering in my furs upon the snow, Not from the cold, but from the icy pangs Of pain that will be with me till I die. Truly, to-morrow's torments will not be Crueller than these memories of mine. The heated irons, the flesh-dividing steel, Are they not gifts from thee, my well-beloved?

"Ah, when they lead me out, beyond the walls, I shall look forth, across the rosy hills Knowing that far beyond their lilac rims Thou wilt awake, in all thy beauty's pride, Safe and beloved, already forgetful of me, Whose lonely and smouldering life has broken at last Into this passionate flame of death. Mir—Khan" 107