Page:Flora (Heinemann 1919).djvu/39



BITTER WATERS

In a dense wood, a drear wood.

Dark, water is flowing;

Deep, deep, beyond sounding,

A flood ever flowing.

There harbours no wild bird.

No wanderer strays there;

Wreathed in mist, sheds pale Ishtar

Her sorrowful rays there.

Take thy net; cast thy line;

Manna sweet be thy baiting;

Time’s desolate ages

Shall still find thee waiting

For quick fish to rise there.

Or butterfly wooing.

Or flower’s honeyed beauty.

Or wood-pigeon cooing.

Inland wellsprings are sweet;

But to hps, parched and dry.

Salt, salt is the savour

Of these; Sunt their sigh:

Bitter Babylon’s waters!

Zion, distant and fair!

We hanged up our harps

On the trees that are there. 19