No More Learning

Through the black Tartar tents he pass'd, which stood
Clustering like bee-hives on the low flat strand
Of Oxus, where the summer floods o'erflow
When the sun melts the snows in high Pamere:[4] 15
Through the black tents he pass'd, o'er that low strand,
And to a hillock came a little back
From the stream's brink, the spot where first a boat,
          the stream in summer, scrapes the land.