In The Bazaars Of Hyderabad

What do you sell, O ye merchants?

Richly your wares are displayed, 

Turbans of crimson and silver, 

Tunics of purple brocade,

Mirrors with panels of amber,

Dagger with handles of jade.

What do you weigh, O ye vendors?

Saffron and lentil and rice.

What do you grind, O ye maidens? 

Sandalwood, henna, and spice.

What do you call, O ye pedlars?

Chessmen and ivory dice.

What do you make, O ye goldsmiths?

Wristlet and anklet and ring,

Bell for the feet of blue pigeons,

Frail as a dragon-fly's wing,

Girdles of gold for the dancers,

Scrbbards of gold for the king. 

What do you cry, O ye fruition?

Citron, pomegranate, and plum.

What do you play, O ye musicians?

Either, sarangi or drum.

What do you chant, O magician?

Spells for the eons to come.

What do you weave, O ye flower-girls?

With tassels of azure and red?

Crowns for the brow of a bridegroom,

Chaplets to Garland his bed,

Sheets of white blossoms new-gathered

To perfume the sleep of the dead.