On a Sign these words appear:
We are Somali, and our people are the king of kings:
Look at our works, Mighty, and despair!'
But nothing beside ruins remains. Round the decay
of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare Somali’s coast all silent, none spare,
There stands a sunken Lighthouse, which far off throws
the only shadow that these nomad know:—
"I am a great SOMALI," said the last remaining nomad,
"My people were King of Kings; look at my mighty genes and despair!'
“I AM DESPAIR AND THE WONDERS OF YOUR LAND AND CITY’S ARE DONE” the custodian replied, nothing remained but the worlds pity for land of the poets and there empty pride.
We are Somali, and our people are the king of kings:
Look at our works, Mighty, and despair!'
But nothing beside ruins remains. Round the decay
of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare Somali’s coast all silent, none spare,
There stands a sunken Lighthouse, which far off throws
the only shadow that these nomad know:—
"I am a great SOMALI," said the last remaining nomad,
"My people were King of Kings; look at my mighty genes and despair!'
“I AM DESPAIR AND THE WONDERS OF YOUR LAND AND CITY’S ARE DONE” the custodian replied, nothing remained but the worlds pity for land of the poets and there empty pride.