Past emerald plains and furrowed mountains old,
Whose violet gorges snare the wandering eye,
The pillared palms day’s dying embers hold,
Like shafts of bronze against the crimson sky,
And every cloud mirrors its rosy fold
In tremulous waves which blush and wander by—
We float, and feel the magic penetrate,
Till all our soul is colored by the hues,
Making a heaven of earth, and, satiate
With splendor, we forego the use
Of speech, and reverently wait
While fades the glory with the falling dews,
And darkness seals for memory each gleam,
Happy to know it was not all a dream.
The River Nile flows for thousands of miles from the East African mountains down through the Sahara desert and the swamps of the Sudd. Along the length of the Nile Valley in Egypt, the river is lined on each bank by a narrow strip of palms and fertile fields.