XCVII.

Meantime Gulbeyaz when her King was gone,

Retired into her boudoir, a sweet place

For love or breakfast; private, pleasing, lone,

And rich with all contrivances which grace

Those gay recesses:—many a precious stone

Sparkled along its roof, and many a vase

Of porcelain held in the fettered flowers,

Those captive soothers of a captive's hours.

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