12
WITH SA'DI IN THE GARDEN;
Over the River, where her Emperor died—
Brindâban, and a hundred leagues of plain.
Hushed, you advance—your gaze still fixed! heart, soul
Full of the Wonder; drinking in its spell
Of purity and mystery, its poise
Magical, weird, aerial; the ghost
Of Thought draped white—as if that Sultan's sigh
Had lived in issuing from his love and grief
Immense, and taken huge embodiment
Which one rash word might change from Tomb to Cloud.
But mount the first great platform—sandstone, red,
A thousand feet each way—and, coming nigh,
You shall perceive the sovereignty of this
Which utmost loveliness did somewhile hide.
Now grows the mighty greatness of the Taj
Plainer! 't is eighty feet of marble snow
