"Four Afghans sit in evening light, With features dusked by turbans white,But eyes like sun-glow I’ve seen smoulder On a lonely desert boulder.In circle, cross-legged, they converse, With accents guttural and terse.Unknowable are nomad faces Till you haunt all desert places:The same pent dreams glint there unknown As on the eve-lit boulder-stone.Earth brother, I must stranger be To such fierce taciturnity."