THE GOLDEN THRESHOLD(8)

    A kokila called from a henna-spray： LIRA！ LIREE！ LIRA！ LIREE！ Hasten, maidens, hasten away To gather the leaves of the henna-tree. Send your pitchers afloat on the tide, Gather the leaves ere the dawn be old, Grind them in mortars of amber and gold, The fresh green leaves of the henna-tree.

    A kokila called from a henna-spray： LIRA！ LIREE！ LIRA！ LIREE！ Hasten maidens, hasten away To gather the leaves of the henna-tree. The tilka's red for the brow of a bride, And betel-nut's red for lips that are sweet； But, for lily-like fingers and feet, The red, the red of the henna-tree.