A story is told of a Bedouin lady of the seventh century, whose husband
rose afterwards to be one of the Caliphs. When taken to Damascus to live in
luxury and state, she pined for the freedom of the desert, and gave utterance
to her loneliness in the following verses:—
A tent with rustling breezes cool
Delights me more than palace high
And more the cloak of simple wool
Than robes in which I learned to sigh
The crust I ate beside my tent
Was more than this fine bread to me
The wind’s voice where the hill-path went
Was more than tambourine can be
ليست هناك تعليقات:
إرسال تعليق
جحا يحكم المدينة