 | Poems |  |
109
THE ARAB STEED.
My beautiful barb is swift and fleet,
With the speed of thought in his flying feet;
His eyes are large, and full of fire,
His nostrils blown with royal ire;
He pricks his ears at the lightest sound,
Snuffs the air, and paws the ground,
And champs his bit with a foamy mouth,
Looking away to the fiery South!
With the speed of thought in his flying feet;
His eyes are large, and full of fire,
His nostrils blown with royal ire;
He pricks his ears at the lightest sound,
Snuffs the air, and paws the ground,
And champs his bit with a foamy mouth,
Looking away to the fiery South!
I leap on his back without saddle or rein;
One pat on his neck, one hand in his mane,
We 're off to the desert so brave and grand,
Outspeeding the pillars of rolling sand.
In dust the drivers and camels fall,
And the whirlwind covers and buries all;
But away in its van we fly like light,
Where the groves are green and the fountains bright.
One pat on his neck, one hand in his mane,
We 're off to the desert so brave and grand,
Outspeeding the pillars of rolling sand.
In dust the drivers and camels fall,
And the whirlwind covers and buries all;
But away in its van we fly like light,
Where the groves are green and the fountains bright.
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