Araby

"Dark-browed Sailor, tell me now,

Where, where is Araby?

The tide's aflow, the wind ablow,

'Tis I who pine for Araby."

"Master, she her spices showers

O'er nine-and-ninety leagues of sea;

The laden air breathes faint and rare -

Dreams on far-distant Araby."

"Oh, but Sailor, tell me true;

'Twas Man who mapped this Araby;

Though dangers brew, let me and you

Embark this night for Araby..."

Wails the wind from star to star;

Rock the loud waves their dirge: and see!

Through foam and wrack, a boat drifts back:

Ah, heart-beguiling Araby!