Rudel and the Lady of Tripoli
"Rig the ship with a rope of gold
And let us put to sea.
And now goodbye to good Marseilles
And hey for Tripoli!"
Up and down the golden ship
That's sailing to the south,
Rudel goes singing to himself,
A smile about his mouth.
And up the masts and on the bridge
The sailors stop to hear:
There's not a lark in the May-heaven
Can sing so high and clear!
There's not a thrush or a nightingale
Can sing so full and glad.
Yet there's a soul that sighs i' the song,
And the soul is wise and sad.
Rudel goes singing to himself
As he looks across the sea—
"Lady," he says, "I'll sing at last,
Please God, in Tripoli."
For pale across the wan water
A shining wonder grows.
As pale as on the murky night
The dawn of pearl and rose.
And dim across the flood so grey
A city 'gins to rise,
A pale, enchanted Eastern place,
White under radiant skies.
O domes and spires, O minarets,
O heavy-headed drowse
Of nodding palms, O strangling rose
Sweet in the cypress boughs!
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