The Camels

Whence do you come, and whither make return, you silent padding beasts? Over the mountain passes; through the Great Wall; to Kalgan—and beyond, whither?...

Here in the city you are alien, even as I am alien. Your sidling jaw, your pendulous neck—incredible—and that slow smile about your eyes and lip, these are not of this land. About you some far sense of mystery, some tawny charm, hangs ever. Silently, with the dignity of the desert, your caravans move among the hurrying hordes, remote and slowly smiling.

But whence are you, and whither do you make return? Over the mountain passes; through the Great Wall; to Kalgan—and beyond, whither?...