ODE TO ZION
41
I will cut off and cast away my crown
Of locks, and curse the season which profaned
In unclean land the Nazarites, thine own.
How shall it any more be sweet to me
To eat or drink, while dogs all unrestrained
Thy tender whelps devouring I must see?
Or how shall light of day at all be sweet
Unto mine eyes, while still I see them killed—
Thine eagles—caught in ravens' mouths for meat?
O cup of sorrow! gently! let thy stress
Desist a little! for my reins are filled
Already, and my soul, with bitterness,
I, calling back Aholah's memory,
Drink thine hot poison; and remembering
Aholibah, I drain the dregs of thee.
