The blast of the desert unheeded sweeps by,
No terrors it bears to yon palm-sheltered isle;
And though fiercely the sun may look down from on high,
In its cool shady bowers he seems but to smile.
The balm-breathing dews on his canopy fall,
All sparkling as beauty’s celestial tear;
The bright dreams of Fancy his spirit enthrall,
And Araby’s visions are realized here.
’Tis morn, and the slumbers that wrapt him are fled,
His path o’er the desert once more he must find;