Hair that frames with ebon softness a clear, oval, ivory face.
Arched and fringed with velvet blackness, from their shady depths her eyes
Shine as summer lightning flashes in the dusky evening skies.
Mihr un-nissa (queen of women), so they call the little maid
Dreaming by the marble fountain where but yesterday she played.
Heavy-sweet the creamy blossoms gem the burnished orange-groves;
Through their bloom comes Prince Jehangir, on his wrist two fluttering doves.
"Hold my birds, child!" cries the stripling, "I am tired of their play"--
Thrusts them in her hand unwilling; careless saunters on his way.
Culling posies as he wanders from the flowers sweet and rare,