For the moment that their speech Differed o'er their little story, Swiftly faded off from each Every trace of purple glory, Blue was bluer than before, And the red was red once more. Then they knew that both were wrong, And in sympathy of sorrow Learned that each was only strong In the power to lend and borrow,-- That the purple never grew But by grace of red to blue. So, embracing in content, Hearts and wings again united, Red and blue in purple blent, And their holy troth replighted, Both, as happy as the day, Kissed, and rose, and flew away! And for twice a thousand years, Floating through the radiant ether, Lived the happy glendoveers, Of the other, jealous neither,-- Sapphire naught without the red, Ruby still by blue bested. But when weary of their life, They came down to earth at even-- Purple husband, purple wife-- From the upper deeps of heaven, And reclined upon the grass, That their little lives might pass. Wing to wing and arms enwreathed, Sank they from their life's long dreaming;-- Into earth their souls they breathed; But when morning's light was streaming, All their joys and sweet regrets Bloomed in banks of violets! As from its dimpled fountain, at its own capricious will, Each step a note of music, and each fall and flash a thrill, The rill goes singing to the meadow levels and is still, So fell from Nourmahal her song upon the captive sense; It dashed in spray against the throne, it tinkled through the tents, And died at last among the flowery banks of recompense; For when great Selim marked her fire, and read her riddle well, And watched her from the flushing to the fading of the spell, He sprang forgetful, from his seat, and caught her as she fell. He raised her in his tender arms; he bore her to his throne: "No more, oh! Nourmahal, my wife, no more I sit alone; And the future for the dreary past shall royally atone!" He called to him the princes and the nobles of the land, Then took the signet-ring from his, and placed it on her hand, And bade them honor as his own, fair Nourmahal's command. And on the minted silver that his largess scattered wide, And on the gold of commerce, till the mighty Selim died, Her name and his in shining boss stood equal, side by side. XXII. The opening of the wondrous tome Was like the opening of a door Into a vast and pictured dome, Crowded, from vaulted roof to floor, With secrets of her life and home. To be like Philip was to be Another Philip--only less! To win his wit in full degree Would bear to him but nothingness, From one no wiser grown than he! If blue and red in Hindostan Were blue and red at home, she knew That she--a woman, he--a man, Could never wear the royal hue Till blue and red together ran