So on, ever on, spreads the path of the Desert,
Wearily, wearily;
Sand, ever sand—not a gleam of the fountain;
Sun, ever sun—not a shade from the mountain;
As a sea on a sea, flows the width of the Desert,
Drearily, drearily.
How narrow content, and how infinite knowledge!
Lost vale, and lost maiden!
Enclosed in the garden the mortal was blest:
A world with its wonders lay round him unguest;
That world was his own when he tasted of knowledge—
Was it worth Aden?
THE KING AND THE WRAITH.
king.
Who art thou, who art thou, indistinct as the spray
Rising up from a torrent in vapour and cloud?
Ghastly Phantom, obscuring the splendour of day
And enveloped in awe, as a corpse with a shroud?
wraith.
King, my form is thy shade,
And my life is thy breath;
Lo, thy likeness display'd
In the mirror of Death!
king.
My veins are as ice! 'Tis my voice that I hear!
'Tis my form coming forth from the cloud that I see!
My voice?—can its sound be so dread to my ear?
My form?—can myself be so loathly to me?