With a great cry the Sibyl woke and left The long walls of Assyrian Babylon, Wrenching her torn black robes and locks undone From them that hung upon her right and left. Pale, shrieking, mad, the curious crowd she cleft Swift as a homing swallow, and darted on Thro' leagues of tawny solitude alone, Prophesying a riddle as one bereft... "Not for to-day I speak, but for to-morrow! Mad, call me! Liar, call me! Sage and priest, To-morrow I shall be the fount of Truth!" But once she faltered, babbling words of ruth And yearning hope, and a new tender sorrow, While up in heaven a star rose in the east. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...RETURNING, WE HEAR THE LARKS by ISAAC ROSENBERG PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS, 1ST SERIES: 32 by EDWARD TAYLOR ASLEEP, ASLEEP; MARTYDOM OF SAINT STEPHEN by LUCY ANN BENNETT ULTIMATION by MAGDELEN EDEN BOYLE IN THE SHADOWS by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON THE GLORIOUS GAME by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON SONNET: 178 by LUIS DE CAMOENS |