Byron's verse gives a haunting picture of Moorish magnificence, when he describes Haidée in her joy:
Around, as Princess of her father's land,
A like gold bar above her instep rolled
Announced her rank; twelve rings were on her hand;
Her hair was starr'd with gems; her veil's fine fold
Below her breast was fastened with a band
Of lavish pearls, whose worth could scarce be told;
Her orange silk full Turkish trousers furl'd
About the prettiest ankle in the world.
In Bokhara the bride wears a rose-coloured veil on her wedding-day; and here, strangely enough, deep blue is the distinctive mourning colour.