Of character 'stablished on justice, of force firmly founded on law?
Poor boy, eager-eyed, half exultant, he lifts, half inquiry half plaint,
His Voice of Appeal to the Sphinx. On the air of the desert how faint
Sound his words, "Is it Egypt, O Sphinx, for Egyptians?" There comes no reply,
But straight o'er the sands, as of old, staring forth to the weird desert sky,
Unmoved, unresponsive, indifferent, gazes that stony face still,
Incarnation of calm most colossal, cold patience, immovable will,
Looking far beyond time, far above human hope, mere midge-fret of the day,
Into—what? There's no mortal who knows, and the Sphinx, if it know, doth not say.
'Tis silent—with silence that means not consent to the youth's wild appeal;