The sands of time drift round me, and within
There is the knell of passing and decay:
The sun-smit vastness of the world doth weigh
Upon my riddling soul like hidden sin,
And bids it speak. Thou desert art my kin!
I crumble to thee, waning day by day;
But I am cursed with questions that betray
The end of life before death's hours begin,
My eyes are staring, yet their sight is blind.
My ears are hollow, yet they hear no sound.
My knees are buried and my body sinks.
The stars weave fates that they themselves unwind,
Traversing the same cycles round and round;
While I sit gazing at the silent Sphynx.
[Illustration: Louis Anspacher]