Saharan sand-winds Seared his keen eyeballs; Spent is the spoil he won.

For him the present Holds only pain. Two young fair lovers,

With sweet joined voices, And with eyes brimming: "Ah," they cry "Destiny, Prolong the present! Time, stand still here!" The prompt stern Goddess Shakes her head, frowning; Time gives his hour-glass Its due reversal; Their hour is gone The hour, whose happy Unalloyed moments I would eternalize, Ten thousand mourners Well pleased see end.

Whose severe moments The bleak stern hour, I would annihilate, Is passed by others In warmth, light, joy. Time, so complained of, Who to no one man Shows partiality, Brings round to all men Some undimmed hours. Find their sole speech in that victorious brow.

Mist clogs the sunshine. Smoky dwarf houses Hem me round everywhere; A vague dejection

By yellow Tiber. .Weighs down my soul. They still look fair. No clearer eyesight Spied prey afar. Yet not on Helicon Kept they more cloudless Their noble calm. On the gilt terraces. while I languish. Bright shines the sun. In their cool gallery. On the smooth convent-roofs. A blind. sand-hemmed City of Africa. Everywhere countless Prospects unroll themselves. in Asia. Through sun-proof alleys In a lone. Age-bowed. Far hence. Yet. led beggar. Strange unloved uproar Shrills round their portal. No bolder robber Erst abode ambushed Deep in the sandy waste. And countless beings Pass countless moods. Of holy Lassa. Grey time-worn marbles Hold the pure Muses. asks alms.

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