Of Princes and Princesses—kindred bones—
Surround the shrine; here, in the heart of all,
With chapels girdled, shut apart by screens,
The shrine's self stands. White, delicately white!
White as the c'heek of Mumtaz-i-Mahal
When Shah Jahan let fall a king's tear there,—
White as the breast her new babe vainly pressed
That ill day in the camp at Burhanpur,
The fair shrine stands, guarding two Cenotaphs:
For, when the Trumpet of Serâfil blows,
They shall not rise herefrom; their happy dust
Sleeps in one earth beneath, where two plain stones,
Hers in the midst, and his—raised half a span
(For lordliness of sex and Empery)
But close beside it mark their very graves.
This is but record of them, two Death-Chests
O'er-flowered upon white marble with bright sprays
And colored buds and blooms, posies of Death
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