Does Tigris' flow stir ancient dreams from immemorial rest
Ere ever gipsy poached the trout of Itchen and of Test?
Does something in him seem to know those red and arid lands
Where dust of ancient cities sleeps beneath the drifted sands?
Do Kurdish girls with lustrous eyes beneath their drooping lids
And Eastern babes look strangely like the Missis and the kids?
I wonder if the waving palms, when desert winds do blow,
In their dry rustling seem to sing a song he used to know;
Or does he only curse the heat and wish that he were laid
Beneath the spread of RUFUS' oaks or Harewood's beechen shade?