 | Three Hundred Sonnets |  |
46
PYTHAGORAS.
Rare Egypt, not thine own sweet-water'd Nile,Thy Memphis, nor those seated giants twain,
Not golden Thebes, nor Luxor's stately fane,
Nor pyramids eterne of mountain pile,
Exhaust thy glories gone; thy grander boast
Was Learning, and her sons,—who throng'd of old
To draw fair knowledge from thy generous coast,
Nor drew in vain, but drank the blessed draught;
And deepest hath this noble Samian quaff'd,
Who walketh with me now in white and gold;
Wear thou indeed that crown, mysterious sage,
Whose soaring fancy, with deep-diving thought,
Hath pour'd mind-riches over every age,
And charm'd a world Pythagoras hath taught.
| Three Hundred Sonnets | |