Hers, from childhood the bitter pain of tearsDreamed a peep-shy wedding to a PrinceHer one longing to be cherished through the yearsBy a lover, husband, brother: not since
The beginning of time a perfect love be foundTo ease the pain of separation and of griefShe gave to others her complete roundOf compassion, love, yet was taken by a thief
To steal her image, peddle it to crowdsMake her true love of children mawkishIn death, we see her vision through such cloudsHer smile radiant, joyful, a little rakish
For hers is the Queendom, the power and the gloryAlone at the Taj Mahal, rapt in the story.
