Classic Poem

This dainty shawl an Eastern shuttle wove,
Where Ravee stream winds sunward from Cashmere;
By nimble gold 'twas borne around the sphere
For one who gave it me in friendly love.
To rival nature's hues the weaver strove,
For beauty's sake and not barbaric show;
Behold, commingled here, elusive glow
The brilliant, innocent dyes of field and grove.
This silk-soft web was never merchandise;
A charm of peerless art proclaims it rare,—
A sumptuous robe that Majesty would prize,
And India's British Empress well might wear;
'Tis mine for thee within whose beaming eyes
I see love's India, O my queenly Fair!