His back is bent and his lips are blue, Shivering out in the wet: "Here's a florin, my man, for you,
How much I loved that way you had Of smiling most, when very sad, A smile which carried tender hints
"And when the Summer Heat is great, And every hour intense, The Moghra, with its subtle flowers,
I was sold to the Rao of Ilore, Slender and tall was he. When his litter carried him down the street
This man has taken my Husband's life And laid my Brethren low, No sister indeed, were I, no wife,
To-night the clouds hang very low, They take the Hill-tops to their breast, And lay their arms about the fields.