Yasmini bends to the praise of men,
And looks in the mirror, upon her hand,[1]
To curse the beauty that failed her then—
Ah, none of her lovers can understand!
How her whole life hung on that beauty’s power,
The spell that waned at the final test,
The charm that paled in the vital hour,—
Which won so many,—yet lost the best!
Ahi, Yasmini, who lost the best!
She leaves the dancing to reach the roof,