Yes, thou art like the blasting breath, <br />Of that wild desert wind, <br />Which leaves, in its career of death, <br />No living thing behind; <br />Ne'er did the withering Upas shed <br />More poisonous blights on all, <br />O'er which its fate-fraught branches spread <br />Their dark, funereal pall. <br />Like to thyself shall be thy doom, <br />-No gloomier canst thou prove ,- <br />For thou shalt be the breathing tomb <br />Of honour, faith, and love!<br /><br />Eliza Acton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lines-39/
