'Mid the pearly--tinted splendours of the Paradise Bazar,[[12]]
Young Jehangir, boyish--hearted, playing idly with his dove,
Lost his fav'rite, lost his boyhood, lost his heart, and found his love.
By a fretted marble fountain, set in broidery of flowers,
Sat a girl, half child, half maiden, dreaming o'er the future hours,
Wond'ring simply, yet half guessing, what the harem women mean
When they call her fair, and whisper, "You are born to be a queen."
Curving her small palms like petals, for a store of glistening spray,
Gazing in the sunny water, where her rippling shadow lay,
Lips that ripen fast for kisses, slender form of budding grace,