When he unveiled it to his foes
And left them sightless on the field ?
There hast thou heard, the livelong night,
The shrill cicala's quavering lay, —
She could not know such glorious light
Was not indeed the golden day ! —
And hast thou marked the slender thread
Of crystal shining at thy feet,
Winding along its agate bed
With flow so soft, so silvery sweet,
While the lush oleander gazed,
By her own wondrous beauty dazed,
Into the watery mirror clear,
Where all her lovely blooms appear ?
In such a vale Sheikh Moosa rests,
On such a night receives his guests.
Stately the welcome that he gave,
Such as became a patriarch grave.
"Be Allah's peace upon thy head !"