IN the shade of the pyramids
I knelt and wrote on the sand,
While with softly drooping, veiléd lids,
You watched in the shade of those pyramids
The movements of my hand.
I wrote of the fall of Troy,
I wrote of the Grecian ships,
I wrote of Adonis the lovely boy.
And of winged Psyche's virgin joy
As she clung to Eros' lips.
I wrote of the Syrian pearls.
Of Herod, the Jewish king.
I wrote of Salome's tossing curls
And the pale lips sweeter than any girl's,
Of her blood-stained offering.
But all the while you kept.
Dark-lowered your veiled lids.
You neither laughed nor murmured nor wept;
A watcher would surely have dreamed you slept
In the shade of those pyramids.
But when I wrote in the sand
A little unlegended name,
A human unhistoried name.
With a bitter cry and uplifted hand
You rose and over that famished land,
Fled away like a flame.
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THE WRITER
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THE WRITER