LANGUIDLY the night-wind bloweth br From the gardens round, br Where the clear Barrada floweth br With a lulling sound. br br Not the lute-note's sweet shiver br Can such music find, br As is on a wandering river, br On a wandering wind. br br There the Moslem leaneth, dreaming br O'er the inward world, br While around the fragrant steaming br Of the smoke is curled. br br Rising from the coffee berry, br Dark grape of the South; br Or the pipe of polished cherry, br With its amber mouth. br br Cooled by passing through the water, br Gurgling as it flows— br Scented by the Summer's daughter, br June's impassioned rose. br br By that rose's spirit haunted br Are the dreams that rise, br Of far lands, and lives enchanted, br And of deep black eyes.