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26
THE ARAB MAID.
In the presence of its wonders
She hath held her breath;
For the first time she hath blended
Thoughts of love and death.
But there comes a dream more tender
To the maiden's brow,
All the lip in rosy silence
Never may avow.
Does she think how first, when watching
For her lover's feet?
Did the tent's loose canvas waving
Bid that young heart beat?
Time will still that quick, sweet beating;—
Cold and cruel power!
Nothing life can bring us after
Will be like that hour.
Soon, thou beautiful Arabian,
Will such dream be done;
Other hopes have many moments—
Love has only one.
L. E. L.
