Song of the Nargileh

Night with all its virgin stars—
Hosts of radiant light—has come;
From the byways and bazaars
Low has died the jar and hum;
Softly do the zithers weave
Little rhapsodies of eve;
Faintly doth the tympanny,
In the poplar groves, set free
Broken bits of melody.
Sound doth lull the sense, but I,
More than e'en the nightingale,
When the south winds whisper by,
Can avail!

By the banks of Barada
Roses in a riot run,
Fair as ever saw the Shah
In the Gardens of the Sun!
On the midnight they exhale
Wafts that trance before they fail;
And the citron sweetens all,
With its breath ambrosial,
As its snowy petals fall;
Odors soothe the sense, but I,
With a sorcery subtle-sure,
More than scents of Araby
Can allure!

Set thy lips, then, unto mine,
While, like beads the Faithful tell,
The star-litten hours decline
Toward the dawn's rose-miracle!
Latakia wreaths divine
Round thy brows shall drift and twine;
Peace shall hover like a dove;
Thou shalt know the glamour of
Paradisal tales of love!
Kin unto the vine am I;
Spells that evil genii know
I, with my white magicry,
Can o'erthrow!

Bubble! bubble! bubble! bubble!
I allay the sting of trouble!