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...THE SHADOW DANCE by LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON BURNS by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES SPRING FANTASIES: 1. MAY DAY IN MARCH by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON DIVINE LOVE; THE ESSENTIAL CHARACTERISTIC OF TRUE RELIGION by JOHN BYROM TO ELIZA by GEORGE GORDON BYRON |