As when an exile grieves.
For solemn is the air of isolation,
And that lone offspring of the desert wild
Wore to my eye a look of consecration,
That sympathy beguiled.
No more around it eastern balms were stealing,
But smoke and dingy vapors of the town,
No Moslem in its pillared shade was kneeling,
Nor caravan sunk down.
Before it once the sandy ridges heaving,