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...STABAT MATER DOLOROSA by JACOPONE DA TODI ON LAYING THE CORNER-STONE OF THE BUNKER HILL MOMUMENT by JOHN PIERPONT REVERY by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD UNDER THE BLUE by FRANCIS FISHER BROWNE SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 17 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING JAMES LEE'S WIFE by ROBERT BROWNING HOME, SWEET HOME WITH VARIATIONS: 4. AUSTIN DOBSON by HENRY CUYLER BUNNER |