Roger Quilter - Arab Love Song
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
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