’Tis where those we love abide,
And that little spot is best
Which the loved one’s foot hath pressed.
Though it be a fairy space,
Wide and spreading is the place;
Though ’twere but a barren mound,
’Twould become enchanted ground;
With thee, yon sandy waste would seem
The margin of Al-Cawthar’s stream;
And thou canst make a dungeon’s gloom