But still his wonder grew, as lost he roved
Through streets and squares built of substantial stone,
Where late the camel-herds were browsing lone,
And gleamed the crescent from the minaret.
Was he awake?—the crowd around him spoke
A strange, rough tongue—new wonders on him broke,
And wonder filled the eyes of all he met.
A Fakir passed. Of him he wildly asks
Who, what, and where he is? With wondering smile,
Answers the Moslem, “From a northern isle,