Page:Poems of Emma Lazarus vol 2.djvu/178

160 Woe ! woe I God pity us !

Hie ye within, and take a last farewell Of home, love, life — put (m your festal robes. So wills the Babbi, and come forth at once To pray till sunset in the Synagogae.

O God ! Is this the portion of mine age ? Were my white hairs, my old bones spared for this? Oh cruel, cruel ! I am too young to die. Save me, my father! To-morrow should have been The feast at Rachel's house. I longed for that, Counted the days, dreaded some trivial chance Might cross my pleasure — Lo, this horror comes !

Oh love ! oh thou just-tasted cup of joy Snatched from my lips ! Shall we twain lie with death, Dark, silent, cold -— whose every sense was tuned