From the Arabic, an Imitation

MY faint spirit was sitting in the light

   Of thy looks, my love;

   It panted for thee like the hind at noon

   For the brooks, my love.

Thy barb, whose hoofs outspeed the tempest's flight,

   Bore thee far from me;

   My heart, for my weak feet were weary soon,

   Did companion thee.

Ah! fleeter far than fleetest storm or steed,

   Or the death they bear,

   The heart which tender thought clothes like a dove

   With the wings of care;

In the battle, in the darkness, in the need,

   Shall mine cling to thee,

   Nor claim one smile for all the comfort, love,

   It may bring to thee.