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1.-POEMS OF 1847.

VOL. V.

А

A

I.-POEMS OF 1847.

THE SPHINX.

TH

HE Sphinx is drowsy,

Her wings are furled ; Her ear is heavy,

She broods on the world. · Who'll tell me my secret,

The ages have kept ?I awaited the seer

While they slumbered and slept:

“ The fate of the man-child,

The meaning of man;
Known fruit of the unknown;

Dædalian plan;
Out of sleeping a waking,

Out of waking a sleep;
Life death overtaking;

Deep underneath deep ?

“Erect as a sunbeam,

Upspringeth the palm ; The elephant browses,

Undaunted and calm ; In beautiful motion

The thrush plies his wings : Kind leaves of his covert,

Your silence he sings.

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