…from the quills of dead white poets
James Henry Leigh Hunt (1784 – 1859)
It flows through old hushed Egypt and its sands,
Like some grave mighty thought threading a dream,
And times and things, as in all that vision, seem
Caves, pillars, pyramids, the shepherd bands
That roamed through the young world, the glory extreme
Of high Sesostris, and that southern beam,
The laughing queen that caught the world’s great hands.
Then comes a mightier silence, stern and strong,
As of a world left empty of its throng,
And the void weights on us; and then we wake,
And hear the fruitful stream lapsing along
‘Twixt villages, and think how we shall take
Our own calm journey on for human sake.