The Oasis of Sidi Khaled

Wilfred Scawen Blunt (1840–1922)

HOW the earth burns! Each pebble under foot

Is as a living thing with power to wound.

The white sand quivers, and the footfall mute

Of the slow camels strikes but gives no sound,

As though they walked on flame, not solid ground!

’T is noon, and the beasts’ shadows even have fled

Back to their feet, and there is fire around

And fire beneath, and the sun overhead.

Pitiful Heaven! what is this we view?

Tall trees, a river, pools, where swallows fly,

Thickets of oleander where doves coo,

Shades, deep as midnight, greenness for tired eyes.

Hark, how the light winds in the palm-tops sigh!

Oh, this is rest! oh, this is paradise!