Poems of Egypt

[HEPZIBAH]

I recently looked at an old file of some of my own 'Lit Bits' and found my attempts at poetry which I submitted for one of L4U's earliest, if not first, poetry competition which was focussed on the Nile. It prompted me to look up Egyptian Poetry, some of which I will share here and hopefully add to the thread in due course.

Dawn: Upper Egypt
by: Teresa Hooley (1888-1973)

Gleam on gleam in the veilèd dawn
The feet of the Gods are but half withdrawn;
The Colour fringes their garments' hem,
And the stones of the desert remember them.

Where the white mists enfold each hill
Lingers their brooding presence still;
Still, though the glory of Thebes be done,
The twin Colossi salute the sun.

Lure on lure at the break of morn
The earth lies fair as the earth was born,
And the old Gods walk in the mist and the dew
Of an ancient splendour for ever new.


Night Wind: Egypt
by: Teresa Hooley (1888-1973)

We woke and watched the stars all jewel-bright.
Sudden I heard, as I lay lover-warm
In the encircling hollow of your arm,
The old sad wind of Egypt in the night--

The desert wind that sifts the shifting sand
O'er buried cities and tombs of vanished kings,
Sad with the knowledge of forgotten things
And old with memories none may understand.

Dead kings knew love and passion ere they slept,
Dead cities once were glad with colour and light.
Dust now, and sand.... The wind passed through the night.
I turned to you and hid my face and wept.

[Bullet Magnet]

Some nice poems:


Ida Scott Taylor:

“Do not look back and grieve over the past, for it is gone; and do not be troubled about the future, for it has yet to come. Live in the present, and make it so beautiful that it will be worth remembering”

[jewel]

Of course a classic:


Osymanduis by Percy Bysse Shelley

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal these words appear:
“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.