I

When the breeze of a joyful dawn blew free

In the silken sail of infancy,

The tide of time flowed back with me

The forwardflowing tide of time;

And many a sheeny summermorn,

Adown the Tigris I was borne,

By Bagdat's shrines of fretted gold,

Highwalléd gardens green and old;

True Mussulman was I and sworn,

For it was in the golden prime

Of good Haroun Alraschid.