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 IshtarHer sorrowful rays there.Take thy net; cast thy line;Manna sweet be thy baiting;Time's desolate agesShall still find thee waitingFor quick fish to rise there,Or butterfly wooing,Or flower's honeyed beauty,Or wood-pigeon cooing.Inland wellsprings are sweet;But to lips, parched and dry,Salt, salt is the savourOf these; faint their sigh.Bitter Babylon's waters.Zion, distant and fair.We hanged up our harpsOn the trees that are there.
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 IshtarHer sorrowful rays there.Take thy net; cast thy line;Manna sweet be thy baiting;Time's desolate agesShall still find thee waitingFor quick fish to rise there,Or butterfly wooing,Or flower's honeyed beauty,Or wood-pigeon cooing.Inland wellsprings are sweet;But to lips, parched and dry,Salt, salt is the savourOf these; faint their sigh.Bitter Babylon's waters.Zion, distant and fair.We hanged up our harpsOn the trees that are there.
IN a dense wood, a drear wood,Dark water is flowing;Deep, deep, beyond sounding,A flood ever flowing.
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 IshtarHer sorrowful rays there.
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 agesShall still find thee waiting
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.
For quick fish to rise there,
Or butterfly wooing,
Or flower's honeyed beauty,
Or wood-pigeon cooing.
Inland wellsprings are sweet;But to lips, parched and dry,Salt, salt is the savourOf these; faint their sigh.
Inland wellsprings are sweet;
But to lips, parched and dry,
Salt, salt is the savour
Of these; faint their sigh.
Bitter Babylon's waters.Zion, distant and fair.We hanged up our harpsOn the trees that are there.
Bitter Babylon's waters.
Zion, distant and fair.
We hanged up our harps
On the trees that are there.