In silence and solitude
The eternal will was done.
PILGRIM
The cold wind cries across the rolling dunes,
The gray sails fleck the margins of the world:
I watch the rolling dunes along the barren sky,
And wan, white waters by the swift wind hurled.
O where are Queen Faustina, and Babylon, and Tyre,
And pale Troy, lost in a silver mist of tears—