"Since my sight fell on those dark eyes of thine,
Never can I forget those lovely eyes of thine.
Of the hawk's are they? The peacock's or the falcon's?
Or of the soft-eyed antelope? The glances of thine eyes?
As the lambs crouch hidden in the pasture.
From the shade of thy tresses look those gentle eyes of thine.
As the armed trooper stands, his lance in hand beside him,
Thus stand the long lashes round those warring eyes of thine.
As one who has drunk wine, thus intoxicated is my being
Whether they be Priests or Dervishes or even Hermits,
On each one's heart they feed, those cruel eyes of thine.
Yet whatever thou wouldst gaze on, look well upon me,
O Fathma! while there is power of seeing in thine eyes . . . ."
So the litter—with the Prince by this time
