Owen Wister
Percy B. Shelly
A. P. Schmidt
See "Arab Maid" by Quilter for another setting of these words.

My faint spirit was sitting in the light of thy looks, my love;
It panted for thee like the bird at noon,
For the brooks, 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, 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, may bring to thee, to thee.