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.

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