My soul has been wandering in Yemen,
The land of the aloe and myrrh;
Where the breezes that blow from the ocean,
Brought feelings of heaven to her.
In the joy-giving vallies of Yemen,
On its mountains that blush with their bloom;
My soul has been wandering but lately,
To hide from the weight of her gloom.
My Soul, like the fleet horse of Yemen,
Flew chainless o’er mountain and plain,
Till she paused by the flower-scented ocean,
Then returned on her pinions, again.
In that beautiful world, in that Yemen,
My Soul lately wandered in bliss;
Till she found there a glorious maiden,
She vainly had sighed for, in this.
Then my Soul walked far with this maiden–
In this beautiful region of gold,
And died on the love-burdened accents,
From the fount of her bosom that rolled.
Oh Yemen! whose name is the Happy,
Whose mountains are fragrant with bloom–
My Soul met her Consort there lately–
And now she says nothing of gloom.
(James Avis Bartley)
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