And while she knelt in queenly pride and beauty strange and wild, And held her breast with both her palms and looked on him and smiled, She seemed no more of common earth, but Casyapa's child. He bent to her as thus she smiled; he kissed her lifted cheek; "Oh Nourmahal," he murmured low, "more dear than I can speak, I'm weary of my lonely life: give me the rest I seek." She rose and paced the silken floor, as if in mad caprice, Then paused, and from the Empress changed to improvisatrice, And wove this song--a golden chain--that led him into peace: Lovely children of the light, Draped in radiant locks and pinions,-- Red and purple, blue and white-- In their beautiful dominions, On the earth and in the spheres, Dwell the little glendoveers. And the red can know no change, And the blue are blue forever, And the yellow wings may range Toward the white or purple never. But they mingle free from strife, For their color is their life. When their color dies, they die,-- Blent with earth or ether slowly-- Leaving where their spirits lie, Not a stain, so pure and holy Is the essence and the thought Which their fading brings to naught! Each contented with the hue Which indues his wings of beauty, Red or yellow, white or blue, Sings the measure of his duty Through the summer clouds in peace, And delights that never cease. Not with envy love they more Locks and pinions purple-tinted, Nor with jealousy adore Those whose pleasures are unstinted, And whose purple hair and wings Give them place with queens and kings. When a purple glendoveer Flits along the mute expanses, They surround him, far and near, With their glancing wings and dances, And do honor to the hue Loved by all and worn by few. In the days long gone, alas! Two upon a cloud, low-seated, Saw their pinions in the glass Of a silver lake repeated. One was blue and one was red, And the lovely pair were wed. "Purple wings are very fine," Spoke the voice of Ruby, gently: "Ay" said Sapphire, "they're divine!"-- Looking at his blue intently. "But we're blest," said Ruby, then, "And we'll not complain like men." Sapphire stretched his loving arms, And she nestled on his bosom, While his heart inhaled her charms As the sense inhales a blossom;-- Drank her wholly, tint and tone, Blent her being with his own. Rapture passed, they raised their eyes, But were startled into clamor Of a marvellous surprise! Was it color! was it glamour! Purple-tinted, sweet and warm, Was each wing and folded form! Who had wrought it--how it came-- These were what the twain disputed. How were mingled smoke and flame Into royal hue transmuted? Each was right, the other wrong: But their quarrel was not long,