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(From Lalla Rookh)
FLY to the desert, fly with me, | |
| Our Arab tents are rude for thee; | |
| But, oh, the choice what heart can doubt, | |
| Of tents with love, or thrones without? | |
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| Our rocks are rough, but smiling there | 5 |
| The acacia waves her yellow hair, | |
| Lonely and sweet, nor loved the less | |
| For flowering in a wilderness. | |
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| Our sands are bare, but down their slope | |
| The silvery-footed antelope | 10 |
| As gracefully and gayly springs | |
| As o’er the marble courts of kings. | |
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| Then come,—thy Arab maid will be | |
| The loved and lone acacia-tree, | |
| The antelope, whose feet shall bless | 15 |
| With their light sound thy loneliness. | |
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| Oh, there are looks and tones that dart | |
| An instant sunshine through the heart,— | |
| As if the soul that minute caught | |
| Some treasure it through life had sought; | 20 |
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| As if the very lips and eyes, | |
| Predestined to have all our sighs, | |
| And never be forgot again, | |
| Sparkled and spoke before us then! | |
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| So came thy every glance and tone, | 25 |
| When first on me they breathed and shone; | |
| New, as if brought from other spheres, | |
| Yet welcome as if loved for years. | |
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| Then fly with me,—if thou hast known | |
| No other flame, nor falsely thrown | 30 |
| A gem away, that thou hadst sworn | |
| Should ever in thy heart be worn. | |
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| Come, if the love thou hast for me | |
| Is pure and fresh as mine for thee, | |
| Fresh as the fountain under ground, | 35 |
| When first ’t is by the lapwing found. | |
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| But if for me thou dost forsake | |
| Some other maid, and rudely break | |
| Her worshipped image from its base, | |
| To give to me the ruined place; | 40 |
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| Then, fare thee well,—I ’d rather make | |
| My bower upon some icy lake | |
| When thawing suns begin to shine, | |
| Than trust to love so false as thine! | |
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