Sonett-Archiv

Normale Version: To the Nile
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Month after month the gathered rains descend
Drenching you secret Ethiopian dells;
And from the desert's ice-girt pinnacles,
Where Frost and Heat in strange embraces blend
On Atlas, fields of moist snow half depend;
Girt there with blasts and meteors, Tempest dwells
By Nile's aerial urn, with rapid spells
Urging those waters to their mighty end.
Over Egypt’s land of Memory floods are level,
And they are thine, O Nile! And well thou knowest
That soul-sustaining airs and blasts of evil,
And fruits and poisons, spring where'er thou flowest.
Beware, O Man! For knowledge must to thee
Like the great flood to Egypt ever by.
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