Synopsis

A weary waste of blank and barren land, A lonely, lonely sea of shifting sand, A golden furnace gleaming overhead, Scorching the blue sky into bloody red; And not a breath to cool,-and not a breeze To stir one feather of the drooping trees; Only the desert wind with hungry moan, Seeking for life to slay, and finding none; Only the hot Sirocco's burning breath, Spangled with sulphur-flame, and winged with death; No sound, no step, no voice, no echo heard, No cry of beast, no whirring wing of bird;