As one who o’er Arabian Wilderness
Hath toiled a long and Spirit-wearying space,
And now athirst, desires the gleaming face
Of some known Spring,—and ’mid the shadowless
And fiery sand, remembers too, to bless
The sun-proof shelter of the storied race
Of Palm Trees that, with leafy arms, embrace
Each other there in verdant gracefulness:
So ’mid the sordid cares it proudly brooks,
And the dull daily tedium that it knows,
(Despite Consolatories found in Books)
My Nature panteth for the evening’s close,
When it may drink clear welcome from Her looks,
And in the shadow of Her grace repose.
Other works by Charles Harpur...
