WHERE Pyramids and temple-wrecks are piled Confusedly on camel-coloured sands, And the mute Arab motionlessly stands, Like some swart god who never wept or smiled, -- I picked up mummy relics of the wild (And sea-shells once with clutching baby hands), And felt a wafture from old Motherlands, And all the morning wonder of a Child To find Sphinx-money. So the Beduin calls Small fossils of the waste. Nay, poet's gold; 'Twill give thee entrance to those rites of old, When hundred-gated Thebes, with storied walls, Gleamed o'er her Plain, and vast processions rolled To Amon-Ra through Karnak's pillared halls. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE NIGHT OF TRAFALGAR by THOMAS HARDY A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 13 by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN THE LARK ASCENDING by GEORGE MEREDITH THE MEETING OF THE WATERS by THOMAS MOORE FAST ANCHOR'D ETERNAL O LOVE! by WALT WHITMAN THE CLOAK, THE BOAT, AND THE SHOES by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS |