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Letitia Elizabeth Landon - Cafes In Damascus
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LANGUIDLY the night-wind bloweth 
	From the gardens round,
	Where the clear Barrada floweth
	With a lulling sound.

	Not the lute-note`s sweet shiver
	Can such music find,
	As is on a wandering river,
	On a wandering wind.

	There the Moslem leaneth, dreaming
	O`er the inward world,
	While around the fragrant steaming
	Of the smoke is curled.

	Rising from the coffee berry,
	Dark grape of the South;
	Or the pipe of polished cherry,
	With its amber mouth.

	Cooled by passing through the water,
	Gurgling as it flows—
	Scented by the Summer`s daughter,
	June`s impassioned rose.

	By that rose`s spirit haunted
	Are the dreams that rise,
	Of far lands, and lives enchanted,
	And of deep black eyes.

	Thus with some sweet dream`s assistance,
	Float they down life`s stream;
	Would to heaven our whole existence
	Could be such a dream!
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