Thou to me art such a spring,
As the Arab seeks at eve,
Thirsty from the shining sands;
There to bathe his face and hands,
While the sun is taking leave,
And dewy sleep is a delicious thing.

Thou to me art such a dream,
As he dreams upon the grass,
While the bubbling coolness near,
Makes sweet music in his ear;
And the stars that slowly pass,
In solitary grandeur o'er him gleam.

Thou to me art such a dawn,
As the dawn, whose ruddy kiss
Wakes him to his darling steed;
And again the desert speed,
And again the desert bliss,
Lightens thro' his veins, and he is gone!