Istar-i-Sahara
Dim in the east the ruined city lies,
Purple, against the paler purple skies,
And slender palms and minarets arise,
Into the night.
The sands are soft; by desert winds caressed
Into a thousand ripples. Let us rest
And watch the flaming scarlet of the west
Fade into night.
The pale pink Persian rose is like thy mouth,
Thy breath is sweet as breezes from the south
To weary lands repining in the drouth
Long days and nights.
I too have waited, parched and worn with pain,
Come and refresh me, as the gracious rain
Falls on tired fields and makes them green again
Through summer nights.
Ah, how I love thee. Thou art very fair,
Witness the silken softness of thy hair,
And thy calm eyes, clear as the morning air
On mountain heights.
