<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=409380" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>By The Fireside : Sand Of The Desert In An Hour-Glass</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">A handful of red sand, from the hot clime<br>Of Arab deserts brought,<br>Within this glass becomes the spy of Time,<br>The minister of Thought. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">How many weary centuries has it been<br>About those deserts blown!<br>How many strange vicissitudes has seen,<br>How many histories known! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Perhaps the camels of the Ishmaelite<br>Trampled and passed it o'er,<br>When into Egypt from the patriarch's sight<br>His favorite son they bore. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Perhaps the feet of Moses, burnt and bare,<br>Crushed it beneath their tread;<br>Or Pharaoh's flashing wheels into the air<br>Scattered it as they sped; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Or Mary, with the Christ of Nazareth<br>Held close in her caress,<br>Whose pilgrimage of hope and love and faith<br>Illumed the wilderness; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Or anchorites beneath Engaddi's palms<br>Pacing the Dead Sea beach,<br>And singing slow their old Armenian psalms<br>In half-articulate speech; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Or caravans, that from Bassora's gate<br>With westward steps depart;<br>Or Mecca's pilgrims, confident of Fate,<br>And resolute in heart!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">These have passed over it, or may have passed!<br>Now in this crystal tower<br>Imprisoned by some curious hand at last,<br>It counts the passing hour, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And as I gaze, these narrow walls expand;<br>Before my dreamy eye<br>Stretches the desert with its shifting sand,<br>Its unimpeded sky. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And borne aloft by the sustaining blast,<br>This little golden thread<br>Dilates into a column high and vast,<br>A form of fear and dread. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And onward, and across the setting sun,<br>Across the boundless plain,<br>The column and its broader shadow run,<br>Till thought pursues in vain. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The vision vanishes! These walls again<br>Shut out the lurid sun,<br>Shut out the hot, immeasurable plain;<br>The half-hour's sand is run!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Wadsworth+Longfellow">Henry Wadsworth Longfellow</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=409380" data-title="By The Fireside : Sand Of The Desert In An Hour-Glass de Henry Wadsworth Longfellow" data-description="A handful of red sand, from the hot clime Of Arab deserts brought, Within this glass becomes the spy of Time, The minister of Thought. How many weary centuries has it been About those deserts blown! How many strange vicissitudes has seen, How ma..."></div> </div> </div>

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