Classic Poem

Brown-limbed and lithe, he lies beside the fire
Watching the flames with eyes that never tire,
Eyes dark with dreams. His slender-featured face
Round which the dusky evening shadows trace
A frame, is like a cameo cut in stone,
Of a rich bronze hue of the desert's own.
About his amber, languid limbs is wound
A tattered burnous, and his brow is bound
By heavy ropes such as all Berbers wear.
The music of the tom-tom fills the air
As Kabyle songsters sound a joyful tune.
Above shines the great splendor of full moon
Shedding a snowy argence on the sand,
Night in the desert,—night in Nomadland …