"Yea! lord," she said meekly, "I will throw them."
The priest, the bearers, the Dom women had disappeared, their task done. Only the grave-diggers chattered to one another as they filled in the grave.
"Lo! she would have been ripe for kisses soon and now the worms have got her," said one discontentedly.
"Ballah! friend!" quoth the other. "Lovers die, but love dies not--there be ever other food for lust in the world!"
"Throw them into thy life also, sister," said the musician, suddenly. "There is no fear or blame in love."
So as he stood watching the shovelsful of earth hide the roses which covered little Zarîfa, he played softly on his rebeck, and sang a whispering song to its wailing music.
Love is a full red wine bowl
Passion the bubbles on its rim,
Drink deep down to the dregs, soul,
Heed not the froth on the brim.