So old, she seems, the ages drape her form, And press upon her all their weight of hours, I think of her as withered when the storm Thundered on Troy and toppled all its towers; As old, when Tyre and Sidon still were young, And Babylon a tale unprophesied; When terraced Tower of Babel was upflung, And Adam cast out Lilith as his bride: And yet the ages she has made her own She sowed and garnered in a few brief years; She was not born to walk her ways alone, But gulped deep draughts of love ... and laughed through tears. She needs not storm Death's Gate to Paradise -- I glimpse that country in her faded eyes. |