COURT OF A TURKISH VILLA.
NEAR DAMASCUS.
In the midst a fountain,
Singeth day and night,
Each small wave a mirror
For the changing light.
Now the golden sunshine,
Softened by the boughs,
Which a doubtful passage
To the light allows:
Or the moon seems lingering near,
As she paused the words to hear
Of the tales Arabian,
The old Arabian Nights.
On the wind a murmur
Seems to float along,
Soft as is the music
Of remembered song.
Bringing at the moment
All that dwelt apart
In the lone recesses
Of the haunted heart.
So upon her twilight wings
Memory beareth graceful things
From the tales Arabian,
From the old Arabian Nights.
I can see the garden
Treasured from the day,
Where the young Aladdin
Took his wondering way.
Pale the lamp was burning
Which the genie swayed;
Would that at this moment
I could have its aid!
All my fancies, now so vain,
I might with a wish obtain;
From the tales Arabian,
The old Arabian Nights.
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