一把红沙，从炎热的阿拉伯沙漠带来，在这个杯子里成为时间的间谍，思想的大臣。多少个世纪以来，人们都厌倦了那些沙漠!看过多少沧桑，知道多少历史!也许以实玛利人的骆驼，在他们从族长的视线中进入埃及时，把它踩了过去，他们生下了他的爱子。也许摩西的脚被烧焦了，光秃秃的，把它踩在脚下;法老的飞轮在空中飞驰，把它驱散;或者玛利亚，紧紧拥抱着拿撒勒的基督，她的希望、爱和信仰的朝圣之旅照亮了旷野;或者是恩加迪掌心下的隐士，在死海的海滩上踱步，用半明半暗的语言缓慢地唱着古老的亚美尼亚诗篇;或是从巴索拉城门向西迈步的商队;或者麦加的朝圣者，对命运充满信心，内心坚定! These have passed over it, or may have passed! Now in this crystal tower Imprisoned by some curious hand at last, It counts the passing hour, And as I gaze, these narrow walls expand; Before my dreamy eye Stretches the desert with its shifting sand, Its unimpeded sky. And borne aloft by the sustaining blast, This little golden thread Dilates into a column high and vast, A form of fear and dread. And onward, and across the setting sun, Across the boundless plain, The column and its broader shadow run, Till thought pursues in vain. The vision vanishes! These walls again Shut out the lurid sun, Shut out the hot, immeasurable plain; The half-hour's sand is run!