He wrapt it round me, o'er and o'er;
He said, “My little nun art thou,
My solitary evermore.
“Where hid'st thou when the falcons fly;
The flung jereed in music shrills?
When sweep the Arab horsemen by
In valleys of the terraced hills?
“Where are thy childhood's blithesome ways?
The tales, the dances, and the sports?
The bards that sang thy beauty's praise