Exotic Lyric

She has gazelle’s eyes,
Lovely as the moon rise,
Shining phosphorus,
On the Bosphorus,
In old Istanbul.
Oh, my genie I’m consultin’,
Make me a Caliph or a Sultan,
Like in the Kamsah,
It’s just a dream sir,
I’m such a fool.
I couldn’t say a word about her shape or form,
I never caught a glimpse of her skin so pale,
But I’ll bet there ain’t a Turkic-blooded gentleman’s been born,
Who wouldn’t give a hundred camels for a glimpse behind her veil.
Now I’m crying like a fountain,
All my dinars I’ve been countin’
I’m just a poor man,
On a caravan,
leaving for Israfel,
And far off on my dromedary,
I’ll be wishing I could marry,
That ‘stanbuli prize,
With the dark eyes,
Of the gazelle.
Hey! Mr. Genie!
Can’t you hear me!
Why don’t you draw her near me?
That Istanbuli prize
With the dark eyes
Of the gazelle.