O God look

Behold the wild-child
now trapped
now tamed
now trained

I weep o'er the caging of him
longing for some wildness
for the innocence of his heart



o when the revolution swoops down upon Arabia
the sands shall boil blood under the night sun
and dates will be sweet fruit on which others shall die

the king shall be a dream for a change
and royalty the dreamers' changing guard
as Allah's jihad of breaks dawn upon the captured minds

for Isa's name shall be oasis-sweet
water slaking the thirst of the caravaned tribes
searching in the wastelands where the watersheds hide

and for the heavenly-fountain gushing with peace