Page:Stars of the Desert.djvu/29

Ah, dear and dark-eyed Lute player
This joy is almost pain,
To reach, when evening cools the air,
Your level roof again.
To see the palms, erect and slim,
Against a golden sky,
And hear, as twilight closes dim,
The Mouddin's mournful cry,
Across your songs, my Lute player,
The Faithful's evening cry.

Each slender finger lightly slips,
To its appointed strings,
Ah, the sweet scarlet, parted lips
Of One Beloved, who sings!
Ah, the soft radiance of eyes
By love and music lit!
What need of Heaven beyond the skies
Since here we enter it?
You make my Heaven, my Lute player,
And hold the keys of it!

And when the music waxes strong
I hear the sound of War,
The drums are throbbing in the song,
The clamour and the roar.
The Desert's self is in the strain,
The agony of slaves,
The winds that sigh, as if in pain,
About forgotten graves,
Oh, Lute player, my Lute player,
Those lonely Desert graves!

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