What would not millions give to have thee stay
To cover up the memories Time records
As with a burning pen in loving words
That e'en though stifled wake to life again!
To cover up the memories Time records
As with a burning pen in loving words
That e'en though stifled wake to life again!
In thoughtless circles, mingling with the dance,
In haunts of drunkenness and revelry,
We find them striving to drown Memory;
Amid the fascination of the hour
Each his own phantom for a while pursues,
Hoping himself in some charmed spell to lose
Or find the fountain of oblivion.
In haunts of drunkenness and revelry,
We find them striving to drown Memory;
Amid the fascination of the hour
Each his own phantom for a while pursues,
Hoping himself in some charmed spell to lose
Or find the fountain of oblivion.
THE DESERT CAMEL
Trackless and bare are the sands of the desert
No verdure adorns them, no green tree is there;
Parched by the winds and the hot, scorching sun rays,
Strewn with white bones lying bleaching and bare,
Like a vast ocean of rolling sand surges
Beaten and driven like waves on the deep,
Changing and shifting in wildest confusion
In the hot wind-storms that over them sweep.
Patiently, slowly, across the vast ocean
Plod the strong camels, so faithful and true;
Ships of the desert; with merchandise laden,
Gladly for them comes the harbor in view.
Onward they toil on their long, weary voyage,
While never a blade of grass blesses their sight;
Cheered through the day by the songs of the Arabs,
Resting upon the bare sand-waves by night.
No verdure adorns them, no green tree is there;
Parched by the winds and the hot, scorching sun rays,
Strewn with white bones lying bleaching and bare,
Like a vast ocean of rolling sand surges
Beaten and driven like waves on the deep,
Changing and shifting in wildest confusion
In the hot wind-storms that over them sweep.
Patiently, slowly, across the vast ocean
Plod the strong camels, so faithful and true;
Ships of the desert; with merchandise laden,
Gladly for them comes the harbor in view.
Onward they toil on their long, weary voyage,
While never a blade of grass blesses their sight;
Cheered through the day by the songs of the Arabs,
Resting upon the bare sand-waves by night.
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