The Emperor Zafar of Delhi, of the Mogul dynasty, was a great poet, a poet of the highest order; so delicate in his expression, such a great master of words, his imagination so beautiful and refined. His poetry was nothing less than a marvelous picture, a work of art; and so was he himself. But as it is natural that an artist, a poet, interests himself more in tragedy than in comedy, so this poet began to write the words of a tragedy. What was the consequence? After the book was finished his tragedy in life began. He came to decline, and his whole life was repeating the same tragedy; life repeated the same poetry which he had written.