Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

(1840 - 1922 / England)

The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part Iv: Vita Nova: Cx - Poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

How the earth burns! Each pebble underfoot
Is as a living thing with power to wound.
The white sand quivers, and the footfall mute
Of the slow camels strikes but gives no sound,
As though they walked on flame, not solid ground.
'Tis noon, and the beasts' shadows even have fled
Back to their feet, and there is fire around
And fire beneath, and overhead the sun.
Pitiful heaven! What is this we view?
Tall trees, a river, pools, where swallows fly,
Thickets of oleander where doves coo,
Shades, deep as midnight, greenness for tired eyes.
Hark, how the light winds in the palm--tops sigh.
Oh this is rest. Oh this is paradise.

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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, April 13, 2010

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