To His Horse

Come, my beauty! come, my desert darling!On my shoulder lay thy glossy head!Fear not, though the barley-sack be empty,Here's the half of Hassan's scanty bread.

Thou shalt have thy share of dates, my beauty!And thou know'st my water-skin is free:Drink and welcome, for the wells are distant,And my strength and safety lie in thee.

Bend thy forehead now, to take my kisses!Lift in love thy dark and splendid eye:Thou art glad when Hassan mounts the saddle,--Thou art proud he owns thee: so am I.

Let the Sultan bring his boasted horses,Prancing with their diamond-studded reins;They, my darling, shall not match thy fleetnessWhen they course with thee the desert plains!

We have seen Damascus, O my beauty!And the splendor of the Pashas there;What's their pomp and riches? why, I would notTake them for a handful of thy hair!