The little rug from Persia, that lies upon our floor,
It gleams a wealth of colors with the sunlight from the door;
A pretty gold, like candlelight
A starry blue, like skies at night,
A red like rubies, wild and bright,
All these and many more.
The little rug from Persia, that shines like flowers and wings,
If it could only talk to us could tell of many things;
Of foreign lands, so far away
Of magic night and burning day,
Of dark-skinned children at their play
Of elephants and kings.
