25.06.2007, 11:49
Rizpah
Blown through the gusty spaces of the night,
The pale clouds fleet like ghosts along the sky;
A fitful wind goes moaning feebly by,
And the faint moon, poised o'er the craggy height,
Dies in its own uncertain, misty light.
Within the hills the water-springs are dry;
The herbs are withered; and the sand-wastes lie
Dim, wide, and lonely to the weary sight.
Behold! her awful vigil she will keep
Through the wan night as through the burning day;
Though all the world should sleep she will not sleep,
But watch, wild-eyed and fierce, to scare away,
As round and round, with hoarse, low cries they creep,
From her dead sons the hungry beasts of prey.
Blown through the gusty spaces of the night,
The pale clouds fleet like ghosts along the sky;
A fitful wind goes moaning feebly by,
And the faint moon, poised o'er the craggy height,
Dies in its own uncertain, misty light.
Within the hills the water-springs are dry;
The herbs are withered; and the sand-wastes lie
Dim, wide, and lonely to the weary sight.
Behold! her awful vigil she will keep
Through the wan night as through the burning day;
Though all the world should sleep she will not sleep,
But watch, wild-eyed and fierce, to scare away,
As round and round, with hoarse, low cries they creep,
From her dead sons the hungry beasts of prey.