漂亮的黑眼睛男孩，啊，瘸腿的碧绿!没有少女羞涩的面容，是某个无与伦比的女王的侍从:某个古老的东方女王，华丽的金丝织成，层层叠叠，闪闪发光，中间镶着宝石。在沙漠中生长，在那里，只有呼吸和生活在有生命的空气中，才是最美妙的狂喜;在那里骑马或漫游，伴着太阳或星星，像爱一样陶醉，当爱来到你身边。你可爱的四肢赤裸着;只有一块破布，匆忙地披着一种高贵的神气，束着他们纤细的腰身。华丽的珠子和护身符，在脖子和胳膊上晃来晃去，抵挡荒野里的怪物的可怕咒语和伤害。微风和阳光的爱抚，穿过白墙的小镇，我们看见你像小鹿一样奔跑，摩卡棕色的轻爱!狂野的丘比特，没有翅膀，摇着琴弦;用鳄鱼和戒指换半个王冠。 Spoilt darling of our bark, Smiling with teeth as white As when across the dark There breaks a flash of light. And what a careless grace Showed in thy gait and pace; Eyes starlike in a face Sweet as a Nubian night! Better than Felt or Fez, High on thy forehead set, Countless in lock and tress, Waved a wild mane of jet. Kings well might envy thee What courts but rarely see, Curls of rich ebony Coiled in a coronet. Lo--in dim days long since-- The strolling Almehs tell, Thou shouldst have been a prince, Boy of the ebon fell! If truth the poet sings, Thy tribe, oh Beduin, springs From those lost tribes of Kings, Once Kings in Israel. Ah me! the camp-fires gleam Out yonder, where the sands Fade like a lotos dream In hollow twilight lands. Our sail swells to the blast, Our boat speeds far and fast, Farewell! And to the last Smile, waving friendly hands. * * * * * * From England's storm-girt isle, O'er seas where seagulls wail, Rocked on the rippling Nile, We drift with drooping sail. On waters hushed at night, Where stars of Egypt write In hieroglyphs of light Their undeciphered tale. Forlorn sits Assouan; Where is her boy, her pride?-- Now in the lamplit Khan, Now by the riverside, Or where the Soudanese, Under mimosa trees, Chaunt mournful melodies, We've sought him far and wide. Oh, desert-nurtured Child, How dared they carry thee, Far from thy native Wild, Across the Western Sea? Packed off, poor boy, at last, With many a plaster cast Of plinth and pillar vast, And waxen mummies piled! Ah! just like other ware, For a lump sum or so Shipped to the World's great Fair-- To big Chicago Show! With mythic beasts and things, Beetles and bulls with wings, And imitation Sphinx, Ranged row on curious row! Beautiful, black-eyed boy; Ah me! how strange it is That thou, the desert's joy, Whom heavenly winds would kiss, With Ching and Chang-hwa ware, Blue pots and bronzes rare, Shouldst now be over there Shown at Porkopolis. Gone like a lovely dream, Child of the starry smile; Gone from the glowing stream Glassing its greenest isle! We've sought, but sought in vain; Thou wilt not come again, Never for bliss or pain, Home to thy orphaned Nile.