The Palms stood motionless as Pyramids 
Against the golden halo of the sky; 
Interminable crops of wheat and rye 
Mantled the plain with downy coverlids 
Of silken green, where little freckled kids 
Frolicked beneath the staid maternal eye; 
And babe-led buffaloes plashed trampling by, 
Sprinkling cool water on their dusty lids. 

Spake the grave Arab, as his flashing glance 
Swept the large, luminous verdure's dewy sheen, 
Sedately, with a bronze-like countenance: 
"Nehârak Saîd! Lo, this happy day, 
My country decks herself in sumptuous green, 
And smiling welcome, Lady, bids you stay."