And at the dance, when her soft hands touched his
The music seemed to quicken, time to speed;
But when she bowed and passed to other hands,
Winding the mystic measure of the dance,[3]
The music seemed to slacken, time to halt,
Or drag his limping moments lingering on.
At length, after the dance, the beauties passed
Before the prince, and each received her prize.
So rich and rare that each thought hers the first,
A treasure to be kept and shown with pride,
And handed down to children yet unborn.
But when Yasodhara before him stood,
The prizes all were gone; but from his neck
He took a golden chain thick set with gems,
And clasped it round her slender waist, and said:
"Take this, and keep it for the giver's sake."

And from the prince they passed before the king.
The proud and stately he would greet with grace,
The timid cheer with kind and gracious words.
But when Yasodhara bowed low and passed,
He started, and his color went and came
As if oppressed with sudden inward pain.
Asita, oldest of his counselors,
Sprang to his side and asked: "What ails the king?"
"Nothing, my friend, nothing," the king replied,
"But the sharp probing of an ancient wound.
You know how my sweet queen was loved of all--
But how her life was woven into mine,
Filling my inmost soul, none e'er can know.