Far be the awful shades of those
Who deep beneath the sands repose—
The hosts, to whom the desert’s breath
Bore swift and stern the call of death.
Sleep! nor may scorching blast invade
The freshness of the acacia shade,
But gales of heaven your spirits bless,
With life’s best balm—Forgetfulness!
Till night from many an urn diffuse
The treasures of her world of dews.