Fly to the desert, fly with me by Thomas Moore.

Song of Nourmahal

in “The Light of the Harem”.

Part 1 of 5.

“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?

“Our rocks are rough, but smiling there
The acacia waves her yellow hair,
Lonely and sweet, nor loved the less
For flowering in the wilderness.

“Our sands are bare, but down their slope
The silvery-footed antelope
As gracefully and gayly springs
As o’er the marble courts of kings.

“Then come,—thy Arab maid will be
The loved and lone acacia-tree,
The antelope, whose feet shall bless
With their light sound thy loneliness.