Heedless that the fairest blossom, 'mid the blaze of blossom there,
Is the little dreaming maiden, by the fountain-side at rest,
With the onyx-eyed, bright-plumaged birds of love upon her breast.
Flowers fade, and perfume passes; nothing pleases long to-day;
Back towards his feathered favourites soon the prince's footsteps stray.
Dreaming still sits Mihr-un-nissa, but within her listless hold
Only one fair struggling captive does the boy, surprised, behold.
"Only one?" he queried sharply. "Sire," she falters, "one has flown."
"Stupid! how?" The maiden flushes at the proud, imperious tone.
"So, my lord!" she says, defiant, with a scornful smile, and straight