AS an Arab journeyeth

Through a sand of Ayaman,

Lean Thirst, lolling its cracked tongue,

Lagging by his side along;

And a rusty-wingèd Death

Gräting its low flight before,

Casting ribbèd shadows o9er

The blank desert, blank and tan:

He lifts by hap toward where the morning's roots are

His weary stare,-

Sees, although they plashless mutes are,

Set in a silver air

Fountains of gelid shoots are,

Making the daylight fairest fair;

Sees the palm and tamarind

Tangle the tresses of a phantom wind ;-

A sight like innocence when one has sinned !

A green and maiden freshness smiling there,

While with unblinking giare

The tawny-hided desert crouches watching her.

'Tis a vision :

Yet the greeneries Elysian

He has known in tracts afar ;

Thus the enamouring fountains flow,

Those the very palms that grow,

By rare-gummed Sava, or Herbalimar.-

Such a watered dream has tarried

Trembl i ng on my desert arid ;

Even so

Its lovely gleamings

Seemings show

Of things not seemings ;

And I gaze,

Knowing that, beyond my ways,


AU thèse arey for thèse are She.

Eve no gentlier lays her cooling cheek

On the burning brow of the sick earth,

Sick with death, and sick with birth,

Aeon to aeon, in secular fever twirled,

Than thy shadow soothes this weak

And distempered being of mine.

In all I work, my hand includeth thine;

Thou rushest down in every stream

Whose passion frets my spirit's deepening gorge ;

Unhood'st mine eyas-heart, and fliest my dream ;

Thou swing'st the hammers of my forge ;

As the innocent moon, that nothing does but shine,

Moves all the labouring surges of the world.

Pierce where thou wilt the springing thought

in me,

And there thy pictured countenance lies enfurled,

As in the eut fern lies the imaged tree.

This poor song that sings of thee,

This fragile song, is but a curled

Shell outgathered from thy sea,

And murmurous still of its nativity.