In The British Museum

Shafts of light, that poured from the August sun, Glowed on long red walls of the gallery cool; Fell upon monstrous visions of ages gone, Still, smiling Sphinx, winged and bearded Bull. With burnished breast of ebon marble, queen And king regarded full, from a tranquil brain Enthroned together, conquered Time; serene In spite of wisdom, and older than ancient pain. Hither a poor woman, with sad eyes, came, And vacantly looked around. The faces vast, Their strange motionless features, touched with flame, Awed her: in humble wonder she hurried past; And shyly beneath a sombre monument sought Obscurity; into the darkest shade she crept And rested: soon, diverted awhile, her thought Returned to its own trouble. At last she slept. Not long sweet sleep alone her spirit possest. A dream seized her: a solemn and strange dream. For far from home in an unknown land, opprest By burning sun, in the noon's terrible beam She wandered; around her out of the plain arose Immense Forms, that high above her stared. Calm they seemed, and used to human woes; Silent they heard her sorrow, with ears prepared. Now like a bird, flitting with anxious wings, Imprisoned within some vast cathedral's aisles, Hither and thither she flutters: to each she brings Her prayer, and is answered only with grave smiles. Indescribably troubled, ``Crush me,'' she cries, ``Speak, speak, or crush me!'' The lips are dumb. --She woke, no longer in shadow, the sun on her eyes, And sighed, and arose, and returned to her empty home.