English poem
Iv
by R. D. Blackmore (1825–1900)
Yea, but heaven hath ordered duly, Lest mankind should wax unruly, Egypt, garner of all lore, Narrow as a threshing-floor.
East, and West, lies desolation, Infinite, untracked, untold Shroud for all of God's creation, When the wild blast lifts its fold;
There eternal melancholy Maketh all delight unholy; As a stricken widow glides Past a group of laughing brides.
Who is this, that so disdaineth Dome and desert, fear and fate; While his jewell'd horse he reineth. At Amen-Ra's temple-gate?
He, who crushed the kings of Asia, Like a pod of colocasia; Whom the sons of Anak fled, Puling infants at his tread.
Who, with his own shoulders, lifted Thrones of many a conquered land; Who the rocks of Scythia rifted-- King Sesostris waves his hand