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

Song of Nourmahal

in “The Light of the Harem”.

Part 4 of 5.

There was a pathos in this lay,
That even without enchantment’s art
Would instantly have found its way
Deep into Selim’s burning heart;
But breathing, as it did, a tone
To earthly lutes and lips unknown;
With every chord fresh from the touch
Of music’s spirit, ’t was too much!
Starting, he dashed away the cup,—
Which, all the time of this sweet air,
His hand had held, untasted, up,
As if ’t were fixed by magic there,
And naming her, so long unnamed,
So long unseen, wildly exclaimed,
“O Nourmahal! O Nourmahal!
Hadst thou but sung this witching strain,
I could forget—forgive thee all,
And never leave those eyes again.”