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No. 9. Beheadment
Palm tree boughs are lacing
Through which the moonlight steals,
And bathes the spot like silver
Where India’s daughter kneels
Her white robes round her falling
Her hair as black as night
Has its coil of richest rubies
Like a crown of crimson light.
A lamp on the shining water
It is a simple test,
Does he prime live, her lover—
Lone star on the river’s breast?
See it nears the turning
Now it’s rocking to and fro
In a splash, like liquid silver,
Then it flickers and grows low.
India’s white-robed maiden
Clasps her hands so tight
Her face grows pale with anguish,
Fine brighter grows the light,
Then on through the lily masses,
Like a spark amid the blue,
Floating safely onward—
Floating slowly from her view
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