Lyrics
Fly to the desert, fly with me, Fly!
Our Arab tents are rude for thee; Fly!
But, Oh, the choice what heart can doubt,
Of tents with love, or thrones without?
Fly to the desert, fly with me, Fly!
Our rocks are rough, but smiling there.
Th'acacia waves her yellow hair,
Lovely and sweet, nor loved the less
For flowering in a wilderness.
Our sands are bare, but down their slope
The silv'ry-footed antelope
As gracefully and gayly springs
As o'er the marble courts of kings. Ah!
Fly to the desert, fly with me, Fly!
Arab tents are rude for thee; Fly!
But, Oh, the choice what heart can doubt,
Of tents with love, or thones without?
Fly to the desert, fly with me, Fly!