MOTHER AND SPHINX

Grim is the face that looks into the night

Over the stretch of sands;

A sullen rock in a sea of white —

A ghostly shadow in ghostly light,

Peering and moaning it stands.

“Oh, is it the king that rides this way —

Oh, is it the king that rides so free?

I have looked for the king this many a day,

But the years that mock me will not say

Why tarrieth he!”

‘ T is not your king that shall ride to-night,

But a child that is fast asleep;

And the horse he shall ride is the Dream-horse white —

Aha, he shall speed through the ghostly light

Where the ghostly shadows creep!

“My eyes are dull and my face is sere,

Yet unto the word he gave I cling,

For he was a Pharaoh that set me here —

And, lo! I have waited this many a year

For him — my king!”

Oh, past thy face my darling shall ride

Swift as the burning winds that bear

The sand clouds over the desert wide —

Swift to the verdure and palms beside

The wells off there!

“And is it the mighty king I shall see

Come riding into the night?

Oh, is it the king come back to me —

Proudly and fiercely rideth he,

With centuries dight!”

I know no king but my dark-eyed dear

That shall ride the Dream-Horse white;

But see! he wakes at my bosom here,

While the Dream-Horse frettingly lingers near

To speed with my babe to-night!

And out of the desert darkness peers

A ghostly, ghastly, shadowy thing

Like a spirit come out of the mouldering years,

And ever that waiting spectre hears

The coming king!