Son of the old moon-mountains African! Chief of the Pyramid and Crocodile! We call thee fruitful, and, that very while, A desert fills our seeing's inward span; Nurse of swart nations since the world began, Art thou so fruitful? or dost thou beguile Such men to honour thee, who, worn with toil, Rest for a space 'twixt Cairo and Decan? O may dark fancies err! they surely do; 'Tis ignorance that makes a barren waste Of all beyond itself, thou dost bedew Green rushes like our rivers, and doth taste The pleasant sun-rise, green isles hast thou too, And to the sea as happily dost haste. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WEIGHING THE BABY by ETHEL LYNN BEERS BLACK SAMSON OF BRANDYWINE by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE ADOPTED CHILD by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 70, 71. MUKADDIM, MUWAKHIR by EDWIN ARNOLD SONNET (3) by JOACHIM DU BELLAY OVER THE ROSE-LEAVES, UNDER THE ROSE by JOHN BENNETT (1865-1956) |