There is a hill of shifting sand, Wide stretching sweep of arid land, Far, far away blue mountains stand -- These guard the desert dead. The stars move calmly overhead, Suns rise and set, above each bed A shining haze is lightly spread To decorate the dead. About a cross the gray sands heap As restlessly they crawl and creep, Until the name is buried deep That marks a barren grave. And never there a human sound Above the bleak and narrow mound, The waste winds drifting round and round Alone mourn for the dead. Forgotten ones who sleep as well Beneath the desert's mystic spell As if they lay in wooded dell -- The lonely desert dead. |