Lines- Poem by Eliza Acton
Lines-
Yes, thou art like the blasting breath,
Of that wild desert wind,
Which leaves, in its career of death,
No living thing behind;
Ne'er did the withering Upas shed
More poisonous blights on all,
O'er which its fate-fraught branches spread
Their dark, funereal pall.
Like to thyself shall be thy doom,
-No gloomier canst thou prove ,-
For thou shalt be the breathing tomb
Of honour, faith, and love!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/25/2024 8:57:17 AM # 1.0.0.1119
