Page:TheBirth of the War-God.djvu/81

There on a couch they set her with her face
Turned toward the East—so lovely then the grace
Of that dear Maid, so ravishing her smile,
E'en her attendants turned to gaze awhile,
For though the brightest gems around her lay,
Her brighter beauty stole their eyes away.
⁠Through her long tresses one a flower-wreath wound,
And one with fragrant grass her temples crowned,
While o'er her head sweet clouds of incense rolled
To dry and perfume every shining fold.
Bright dyes of Saffron and the scented wood
Adorned her beauty, till the Maiden stood
Fairer than Ganga when the Love-birds play
O'er sandy islets in her silvery bay.
⁠To what rare beauty shall her maids compare
Her clear brow shaded by her glossy hair?
Less dazzling pure the sacred Lotus shines
Flecked by the thronging bees in dusky lines—
Less bright the Moon, when a dark band of cloud
Enhances beauties which it could not shroud.
⁠Behind her ear a head of barley drew
The eye to gaze upon its golden hue,
But then her cheek with glowing Saffron dyed
To richer beauty called the glance aside;
Though from those lips where Beauty's guerdon lay
The vermeil tints were newly washed away.
Yet o'er them, as she smiled, a ray was thrown
Of quivering brightness that was all their own.

"Lay this dear foot upun thy lover's head
Crowned with the Moon!"—the laughing maiden said.