This day his mission ceased to press the prince,
  And he forgot the sorrows of the world,
  So deep and earnest seemed the general joy. 
  Even those with grinning skeletons at home
  In secret closets locked from public view,
  And care and sorrow rankling at their hearts,
  Joined in the general laugh and swelled the shouts,
  And seemed full happy though they only seemed. 
  But through the games, while all was noisy mirth,
  He felt a new, strange feeling at his heart,
  And ever and anon he stole a glance
  At beauty’s rose-embowered hiding-place,
  To catch a glimpse of those two laughing eyes,
  So penetrating yet so soft and mild. 
  And at the royal banquet spread for all
  It chanced Yasodhara sat next the prince—­
  An accident by older heads designed—­
  And the few words that such constraint allowed
  Were music to his ears and touched his heart;
  And when her eyes met his her rosy blush
  Told what her maiden modesty would hide. 
  And at the dance, when her soft hands touched his
  The music seemed to quicken, time to speed;
  But when she bowed and passed to other hands,
  Winding the mystic measure of the dance,[3]
  The music seemed to slacken, time to halt,
  Or drag his limping moments lingering on. 
  At length, after the dance, the beauties passed
  Before the prince, and each received her prize. 
  So rich and rare that each thought hers the first,
  A treasure to be kept and shown with pride,
  And handed down to children yet unborn. 
  But when Yasodhara before him stood,
  The prizes all were gone; but from his neck
  He took a golden chain thick set with gems,
  And clasped it round her slender waist, and said: 
  “Take this, and keep it for the giver’s sake.”

  And from the prince they passed before the king. 
  The proud and stately he would greet with grace,
  The timid cheer with kind and gracious words. 
  But when Yasodhara bowed low and passed,
  He started, and his color went and came
  As if oppressed with sudden inward pain. 
  Asita, oldest of his counselors,
  Sprang to his side and asked:  “What ails the king?”
  “Nothing, my friend, nothing,” the king replied,
  “But the sharp probing of an ancient wound. 
  You know how my sweet queen was loved of all—­
  But how her life was woven into mine,
  Filling my inmost soul, none e’er can know. 
  My bitter anguish words can never tell,
  As that sweet life was gently breathed away. 
  Time only strengthens this enduring love,
  And she seems nearer me as I grow old. 
  Often in stillest night’s most silent hour,
  When the sly nibbling of a timid mouse
  In the deep stillness sounds almost as loud
  As builders’ hammers in the busy day,
  My Maya as in life stands by my side. 
  A halo round her head, as she would say: