To The Sphinx

O sleepless Sphinx! Thy sadly patient eyes, Forever gazing o'er the shifting sands, Have watched Earth's countless dynasties arise, Stalk forth like spectres waving gory hands, Then fade away with scarce a lasting trace To mark the secret of their dwelling place: O sleepless Sphinx!

O changeless Sphinx! The very dawn of Time Beheld thee sculptured from the living rock! Still wears thy face its primal look sublime, Surviving all the hoary ages' shock: Still royal art thou in thy proud repose, As when the sun on tuneful Memnon rose, O changeless Sphinx!

O voiceless Sphinx! Thy solemn lips are dumb; Time's awful secrets lie within thy breast; Age follows age; revering pilgrims come From every clime to urge the same request,-- That thou wilt speak! Poor creatures of a day, In calm disdain thou seest them die away: O voiceless Sphinx!

Majestic Sphinx! Thou crouchest by a sea Whose fawn-hued wavelets clasp thy buried feet: Whose desert-surface, petrified like thee, Gleams white with sails of many an Arab fleet: Whose tawny billows, surging with the storm, Break on thy flanks, and overleap thy form; Majestic Sphinx!

Eternal Sphinx! The Pyramids are thine; Their giant summits guard thee night and day, On thee they look when stars in splendor shine, Or while around their crests the sunbeams play: Thine own coevals, who with thee remain Colossal Genii of the boundless plain! Eternal Sphinx!