The Dromedary

IN dreams I see the Dromedary still,

As once in a gay park I saw him stand:

A thousand eyes in vulgar wonder scanned

His humps and hairy neck, and gazed their fill

At his lank shanks and mocked with laughter shrill.

He never moved: and if his Eastern land

Flashed on his eye with stretches of hot sand,

It wrung no mute appeal from his proud will.

He blinked upon the rabble lazily;

And still some trace of majesty forlorn

And a coarse grace remained: his head was high,

Though his gaunt flanks with a great mange were worn:

There was not any yearning in his eye,

But on his lips and nostril infinite scorn.

A.Y. Campbell