From her unclasped hands the other, circling, flies to join his mate.
Startled by her quick reprisal, wrath is lost in blank surprise;
Silent stands the heir of Akbar, gazing with awakening eyes
On the small, rebellious figure, with its slender arms outspread,
Rising resolute before him 'gainst the sky of sunset red.
Heavy-sweet the creamy blossom gems the gloomy orange-tree,
Where the happy doves are cooing o'er their new-found liberty.
Slowly dies the flush of anger, as the flush of evening dies;
Slowly grow his eyes to brightness, as the stars in evening skies.
"So, my lord!" So Love had flitted from the listless hold of Fate,