 | The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder |  |
THE DESERT
Souls live for whom the illimitable sandsNot lonely are; they see white, phantom hands
Beckoning in spectral twilights, and they hear
Voices that come not to another ear.
The mystic desert calls them, as doth call
The sea to those who once have known its thrall—
The desert that (like to the eternal sea)
Creates a visible infinity;
There, where the day its quivering fire outpours,
A silent ocean breaks on silent shores.
Who would be wise—
Let him consort with Time 'neath desert skies.
| The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder | |