Far are the shades of Arabia, <br />Where the Princes ride at noon, <br />'Mid the verdurous vales and thickets, <br />Under the ghost of the moon; <br />And so dark is that vaulted purple <br />Flowers in the forest rise <br />And toss into blossom 'gainst the phantom stars <br />Pale in the noonday skies. <br /> <br />Sweet is the music of Arabia <br />In my heart, when out of dreams <br />I still in the thin clear mirk of dawn <br />Descry her gliding streams; <br />Hear her strange lutes on the green banks <br />Ring loud with the grief and delight <br />Of the dim-silked, dark-haired Musicians <br />In the brooding silence of night. <br /> <br />They haunt me -- her lutes and her forests; <br />No beauty on earth I see <br />But shadowed with that dream recalls <br />Her loveliness to me: <br />Still eyes look coldly upon me, <br />Cold voices whisper and say -- <br />'He is crazed with the spell of far Arabia, <br />They have stolen his wits away.'<br /><br />Walter de la Mare<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/arabia/
