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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=456055" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Dying Dragoman</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Far in the fiery wilderness, <br>Beyond the town of Assouan, <br>Left languishing in sore distress, <br>There lay a dying Dragoman. <br>Alone amid the waste, alone, <br>The hot sand burnt him to the bone; <br>And on his breast, like heated stone, <br>The burden of the air did press. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">His head was pillowed on a tomb, <br>Reared to some holy Sheik of old; <br>The irresistible Simoom <br>Whirled drifts of sand that rose and rolled <br>Around him, and the panting air <br>Was one sulphureous spectral glare, <br>Shot with such gleams as lights the lair <br>Of tigers in a jungle's gloom. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Groaning, he closed his bloodshot eyes, <br>As if to shut out all he feared; <br>And greedily a swarm of flies <br>Fell on his face and tangled beard. <br>He lay like one who ne'er would lift <br>His head above that ashy drift; <br>When lo, there gleamed across a rift <br>The blue oasis of the skies. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Like smoke dispersing far and wide, <br>The draggled sands were blown away; <br>The wild clouds in a refluent tide <br>Receded from the face of day. <br>The lingering airs yet lightly blew <br>Till the last speck cleared out of view, <br>And left the hushed Eternal Blue, <br>And nothing else beside. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then once again, with change of moods, <br>A mighty shadow, broadening, fell <br>Across those shadeless solitudes, <br>Without a Palm, without a Well. <br>Wing wedged in wing, an ordered mass <br>Unnumbered numbers pass and pass, <br>As if one Will, one only, was <br>In all those moving multitudes. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">A chord thrilled in the sick man's brain; <br>He raised his heavy-lidded eyes, <br>He raised his heavy head with pain, <br>And caught a glimpse of netted skies, <br>Meshed in ten thousand wings in flight <br>That cleft the air. Oh wondrous sight! <br>He gasped, he shrieked in sheer delight: <br>&quot;The Storks! The Storks fly home again! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;I too, O Storks, I too, even I, <br>Would see my native land again. <br>Oh, had I wings that I might fly <br>With you, wild birds, across the main! <br>Take, take me to the land, I pray, <br>The land where nests are full in May, <br>The land where my young children play: <br>Oh, take me with you, or I die. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;My lonely heart blooms like a flower, <br>My children, when I think of you, <br>My love is like an April shower, <br>And fills my heart with drops of dew. <br>Along their unknown tracks, ah me! <br>The Storks will fly across the sea; <br>My children soon will hail with glee <br>Their red bills on the rain-washed tower.&quot; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Home-sickness seized him for the herds <br>That browse upon the fresh green leas; <br>Home-sickness for the cuckoo birds <br>That shout afar in feathery trees; <br>For running stream and rippling rill <br>That, racing, turning his woodland mill: <br>And tears on tears began to fill <br>His eyes, confusing all he sees. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Again he doats on rosy cheeks <br>Of children rolling in the grass; <br>Again the busy days and weeks, <br>The months and years serenely pass. <br>Black forest clocks tick day and night, <br>His board and bed are snowy white, <br>His humble house is just as bright <br>As if it were a house of glass. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Again, beneath the high-peaked roof, <br>His wife's unresting shuttle flies <br>Across the even warp and woof; <br>Again his thrifty mother plies <br>Her wheel, that hums like noontide bees; <br>And lint-locked babes about her knees <br>Hark to strange tales of talking trees, <br>And Storks deep versed in sage replies. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Again the ring of swinging chimes <br>Calls all the pious folk to church, <br>With shining Sunday face, betimes, <br>Through rustling woods of beech and birch </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Full of moist glimmering hollows where <br>The pines bow murmuring as in prayer, <br>And musically through the air <br>The forest's mighty Choral swells. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Again, O Lord, again he sees <br>The place where Heaven came down one day; <br>Where, in a space of bloom and bees, <br>He won his wife one morn of May. <br>Warm pulses shook and thrilled his blood, <br>Wild birds were singing in the wood, <br>The flowering world in bridal mood <br>Joined in the Pinewood's symphonies. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Again, O Lord, in grief and fear, <br>He bids good-bye to all he loves; <br>The waters swell, the woods are sere, <br>The Storks are gone, and hushed the doves. <br>He goes with them; he goes to heal <br>The sickness whose insidious seal <br>Is set on him. Ah, tears will steal <br>And blur the Storks that disappear. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">A furnace fire behind the hill, <br>The sun has burnt itself away; <br>The ghost of light, transparent, chill, <br>Yet floats upon the edge of day. <br>And all the desert holds its breath <br>As if it felt and crouched beneath <br>The filmy, flying bat of death <br>About a heart for ever still. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And one by one, seraphic, bland, <br>The bright stars open in the skies; <br>The large above the Shadow land <br>The white-faced moon begins to rise. <br>And all the wilderness grows wan <br>Beneath the stars, that one by one <br>Look down upon the lifeless man <br>As if they were his children's eyes.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Mathilde+Blind">Mathilde Blind</a><div class=q>
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<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=456055" data-title="The Dying Dragoman de Mathilde Blind" data-description="Far in the fiery wilderness, 
Beyond the town of Assouan, 
Left languishing in sore distress, 
There lay a dying Dragoman. 
Alone amid the waste, alone, 
The hot sand burnt him to the bone; 
And on his breast, like heated stone, 
The burden of the..."></div>
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