WEARY, weary, desolate, Sand-swept, parched, and cursed of fate; Burning, but how passionless! Barren, bald, and pitiless! Through all ages baleful moons Glared upon thy whited dunes; And malignant, wrathful suns Fiercely drank thy streamless runs; So that Nature's only tune Is the blare of the simoon, Piercing burnt unweeping skies With its awful monodies. Not a flower lifts its head Where the emigrant lies dead; Not a living creature calls Where the Gila Monster crawls, Hot and hideous as the sun, To the dead man's skeleton; But the desert and the dead, And the hot hell overhead, And the blazing, seething air, And the dread mirage are there. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IMPROMPTU TO LADY WINCHILSEA by ALEXANDER POPE BATTLE AT THE RIVER RAISIN; JANUARY 22, 1813 by LEVI BISHOP GILBERT: 1. THE GARDEN by CHARLOTTE BRONTE THE OLD COVE by HENRY HOWARD BROWNELL MEMORIES OF PIONEER DAYS by LUCY BURGMAN BY ALLAN STREAM by ROBERT BURNS TO WALTER SCOTT; MELROSE by AMELIA JOSEPHINE BURR THE TRYST OF THE NIGHT by MAY (MARY) CLARISSA GILLINGTON BYRON |