Classic Poem

As some priest turns, his ritual all done,
And stretching hands above the kneeling crowd,
Who rapt and silent, wait with heads all bowed
For the last holy words of benison—
“Now God be with thee, ever Three in One”—
So turns the sun, though all reluctantly.
One thrilling moment comes to shrub and tree;
Expectant stillness falls; then dark and dun

The silhouettes of sphinx and pyramid
Gaze at the last deep amber after-glow;
The little stars peep down between the palms;
And all the ghosts that garish daylight hid
Are quickened—Isis with the breasts of snow
And Antony with Egypt in his arms.