The poet repeated in a low voice: "How often in the desert I have seen The small herb, Beytharan, in modest green! In every tiny leaf and gland and hair Sweet perfume is distilled, and scents the air. How is it that in barren sandy ground This little plant so sweet a gift has found? And that in me, in this vast desert plain, The sleeping gift of song awakes again?"

"During the voyage," said Nebsecht, "I was uneasy about Pentaur, for I saw how he was pining, but in the desert he seemed to rouse himself, and often whispered sweet little songs that he had composed while we marched." "That is strange," said Bent-Anat, "for I also got better in the desert." "Repeat the verses on the Beytharan plant," said Nebsecht. "Do you know the plant?" asked the poet.

The poet repeated in a low voice: "How often in the desert I have seen The small herb, Beytharan, in modest green! In every tiny leaf and gland and hair Sweet perfume is distilled, and scents the air. How is it that in barren sandy ground This little plant so sweet a gift has found? And that in me, in this vast desert plain, The sleeping gift of song awakes again?"

"During the voyage," said Nebsecht, "I was uneasy about Pentaur, for I saw how he was pining, but in the desert he seemed to rouse himself, and often whispered sweet little songs that he had composed while we marched." "That is strange," said Bent-Anat, "for I also got better in the desert." "Repeat the verses on the Beytharan plant," said Nebsecht. "Do you know the plant?" asked the poet.

The poet repeated in a low voice: "How often in the desert I have seen The small herb, Beytharan, in modest green! In every tiny leaf and gland and hair Sweet perfume is distilled, and scents the air. How is it that in barren sandy ground This little plant so sweet a gift has found? And that in me, in this vast desert plain, The sleeping gift of song awakes again?"

"During the voyage," said Nebsecht, "I was uneasy about Pentaur, for I saw how he was pining, but in the desert he seemed to rouse himself, and often whispered sweet little songs that he had composed while we marched." "That is strange," said Bent-Anat, "for I also got better in the desert." "Repeat the verses on the Beytharan plant," said Nebsecht. "Do you know the plant?" asked the poet.