  THIS dainty shawl an Eastern shuttle wove, Where Ravee stream winds sunward from Cashmere; By nimble gold ’twas borne around the sphere For one who gave it me in friendly love. To rival nature’s hues the weaver strove, For beauty’s sake and not barbaric show; Behold, commingled here, elusive glow The brilliant, innocent dyes of field and grove. This silk soft web was never merchandise; A charm of peerless art proclaims it rare,— A sumptuous robe that Majesty would prize, And India’s British Empress well might wear; ’Tis mine for thee within whose beaming eyes I see love’s India, O my queenly Fair! |
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