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6
SISERA
Eyes seeking what the distance never brought,
Strained through a lattice-window finely wrought—
Sweet-smelling veil of woven cedar-wood.
Strained through a lattice-window finely wrought—
Sweet-smelling veil of woven cedar-wood.
Where the white pigeons lit, and softly cooed,
Ere fluttering down to their accustomed food
In the broad, marble, many-creviced court.
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The brook of Kishon slowly reddening;
The trailing chariot, and the bitter ring
Of intercepted, swift-descending swords.
The panting fugitive. The lying words,
'Turn in; behold this tent, it is my lord's!'
