Egypt :: :: University of Virginia Library

Here are the sterile hills and stony sand,
Here flows the river by whose flooding wave
The waste is fringed with tillage; but no land
Of field and wood and meadow, no conclave
Of warblers, clamorous in an osier-bed,
Declaring to the world how sweet it is to wed.

Far hence the trembling flowers peep forth and pry
To see if winter with his scowl has gone,
Or spread their leafy wings, as if to fly,
For joy because the sun has newly shone;

Far hence they wake from solitary sleep,
Befriended by the birds and foals and frisking sheep.

Methought I saw a mist of bladed green
Exhaled by the sown wheat, before the snow's
Last bordering wreath had melted from between
The furrows near the hedges; whence uprose
The little bird whose soul is yet so strong
That straight to heaven ascends his sacrifice of song.

It was a mirage; for in England lies
That field, and thence a boy's fresh soul was borne

Up with the lark's into the deep blue skies;
No more to know so marvellous a morn;
For as no desert bird doth heavenward sing,
So can no desert heart to heaven uplift his wing.