The Flower of the Flock

“Doos ya lellee! Doos ya lellee!Tread, O joy of my life, tread lightly!Thy feet are the wings of a dove,And thy heart is of fire. On thy woundsI will pour the king's salve. I will hangOn thy neck the long chain of wrought gold,When the gates of Bagdad are before us—Doos ya lellee! Doos ya lellee!”