A Moorish Maid

Above her veil a shrouded Moorish maid          Showed melting eyes, as limpid as a lake;     A brow untouched by care; a band of jetty hair,          And nothing more.    The all-concealing haik     Fell to her high arched instep.    At her side          An old duenna walked; her withered face          Half covered only, since no lingering grace     Bespoke the beauty once her master's pride.     Above her veil, the Moorish maid beheld          The modern world, in Paris-decked Algiers;     Saw happy lad and lass, in love's contentment pass,          Or in sweet wholesome friendship, free from fears.     She saw fair matrons, walking arm-in-arm          With life-long lovers, time-endeared, and then          She saw the ardent look in eyes of men,     And thrilled and trembled with a vague alarm.     Above her veil she saw the stuccoed court          That led to dim secluded rooms within.     She followed, dutiful, the dame unbeautiful,          Who told her that the Christian world means sin.     Some day, full soon, she would go forth a bride -          Of one whose face she never had beheld.          Something within her, wakened, and rebelled;     She flung aside her veil, and cried, and cried.