Amid the world's Sahara, by the path Of doleful years that no man can retrace, The human Caravan toils slowly on, Quenching its thirst with bloody sweat alone. The lion roars—the tempest raves—and still (No tower, or dome, or minaret in sight) Forward the dim horizon seems to fly. High o'er our heads the vulture scents his prey— His ghastly shadow is our only shade— While on we stagger, till our languid eyes Fall on a far-off lonely spot of green, A grove of cypress, dotted with white stones. God in his mercy on the sands of Time Hath dropped one oasis—the Cemet'ry. Lie down poor, breathless pilgrims, sleep at last! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CELSUS AT HADRIAN'S VILLA by EDGAR LEE MASTERS COLD HANDS WARM HEART by KAREN SWENSON UPON THE CIRCUMCISION by JOHN MILTON SONNETS ON PICTURES: MARY MAGDALEN AT THE DOOR OF SIMON THE PHARISEE by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 7. AL-MAUMIN by EDWIN ARNOLD |