Page:Collected poems vol 1 de la mare.djvu/149

 AR are the shades of Arabia,
 * Where the Princes ride at noon,

'Mid the verdurous vales and thickets,
 * Under the ghost of the moon;

And so dark is that vaulted purple
 * Flowers in the forest rise

And toss into blossom 'gainst the phantom stars
 * Pale in the noonday skies.

Sweet is the music of Arabia
 * In my heart, when out of dreams

I still in the thin clear mirk of dawn
 * Descry her gliding streams;

Hear her strange lutes on the green banks
 * Ring loud with the grief and delight

Of the dim-silked dark-haired Musicians
 * In the brooding silence of night.

They haunt me — her lutes and her forests;
 * No beauty on earth I see

But shadowed with that dreams recalls
 * Her loveliness to me:

Still eyes look coldly upon me,
 * Cold voices whisper and say —

"He is crazed with the spell of far Arabia,
 * They have stolen his wits away."