POEMS BY ISAAC ROSENBERG
Marvelled at the large cheer in a naked glistening man;
Yet soon fell in with that contented mood,
That when our hut's light broke on his new mind
lie could not credit it—too soon it seemed:
The stranger man's talk was witchery.
I pray his baking be as magical;
The cakes should be nigh burnt.
[She calls the Nubian. He answers from within.]
Nubian
They are laid by to cool, housewife.
Lilith
Bring me the sherbet from the ledge and the fast-dried figs.
[The Nubian brings sherbet, figs, and a bowl of ice, and lays them down.]
[She looks curiously at him. He is an immense man with squat, mule-skinned features: his jet-black curled beard, crisp hair, glistening nude limbs, appear to her like some heathen idol of ancient stories.]
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