Your Presence Like A Benison To Me Wakes My Sick Soul To Dreamful Ecstasy, I Fancy That Some Old Arabian Night Saw You My Houri And My Heart'S Delight. And Wandering Forth Beneath The Passionate Moon, Your Love-Strung Zither And My Soul In Tune, We Knew The Joy, The Haunting Of The Pain That Like A Flame Thrills Through Me Now Again. To-Night We Sit Where Sweet The Spice Winds Blow, A Wind The Northland Lacks And Ne'er Shall Know, With Clasped Hands And Spirits All Aglow As In Arabia In The Long Ago.