IN my own land, and hunting through the hills I've sat from eve to sunrise, in the caves Of Atlas, circled by the altar-fires Of black enchanters, men who yearly came, By compact, to hold solemn festival: Some riding fiery dragons, some on shafts Of the sunn'd topaz, some on ostrich plumes, Or wondrous cars, that press'd the subtle air, No heavier than its clouds, -- some in swift barks, That lit the Libyan Sea through night and storm, Like wing'd volcanoes; from all zones of the earth, From the mysterious fountains of the Nile, Gold-sanded Niger, India's diamond shore, From silken China, -- from the Spicy Isles, Like incense-urns set in the purple sea By Taprobane. |