Revisit me; resume my soul; inspire

With force and cold out of the north—not given

To sickly dwellers in these southern spots,

Where all day long the great Sun rolls his fire

Intol’rable in the dusty march of heaven,

And the heart shrivels and the spirit rots.

Madras, 1890.

Madras, 1890.

 

 Vision

Vision

Vision

Vision

Vision

A valley of far-fallen rocks,

Like bones of mouldering mountains, spread,

And ended by the barren blocks

Of mountains doom’d or dead:

No rivage there with green recess

Made music in that wilderness.

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