Hunt and Lee, comps. The Book of the Sonnet. 1867.
IV. EgyptThomas Bailey Aldrich (18361907)
F
I seem in some waste solitude to stand
Once ruled of Cheops: upon either hand
A dark, illimitable desert lies,
Sultry and still,—a realm of mysteries;
A wide-browed Sphinx, half buried in the sand,
With orbless sockets stares across the land,
The wofulest thing beneath these brooding skies
Where all is woful, weird-lit vacancy.
’T is neither midnight, twilight, nor moonrise.
Lo! while I gaze, beyond the vast sand-sea
The nebulous clouds are downward slowly drawn,
And one bleared star, faint-glimmering like a bee,
Is shut i’ the rosy outstretched hand of Dawn.