. . .Noting their brawny limbs and polished arms,
  The pose and skill of every charioteer,
  The parts and varied breed of every horse,
  Aiding his comrades with his deeper skill.
  But when the queens of beauty passed him by,
  He was all smiles and gallantry and grace,
  Until the last, Yasodhara, came near,
  Whose laugh was clearest of the merry crowd,
  Whose golden hair imprisoned sunlight seemed,
  Whose cheek, blending the lily with the rose,
  Spoke of more northern skies and Aryan blood,
  Whose rich, not gaudy, robes exquisite taste
  Had made to suit her so they seemed a part
  Of her sweet self; whose manner, simple, free,
  Not bold or shy, whose features—no one saw
  Her features, for her soul covered her face
  As with a veil of ever-moving life.
  When she came near, and her bright eyes met his,
  He seemed to . . . Read More