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Home  »  Collected Poems  »  9. On the Death of Smet-Smet, the Hippopotamus-Goddess

Rupert Brooke (1887–1915). Collected Poems. 1916.

I. 1905–1908

9. On the Death of Smet-Smet, the Hippopotamus-Goddess

SONG OF A TRIBE OF THE ANCIENT EGYPTIANS
(The Priests within the Temple)

SHE was wrinkled and huge and hideous? She was our Mother.

She was lustful and lewd?—but a God; we had none other.

In the day She was hidden and dumb, but at nightfall moaned in the shade;

We shuddered and gave Her Her will in the darkness; we were afraid.

(The People without)

She sent us pain,

And we bowed before Her;

She smiled again

And bade us adore Her.

She solaced our woe

And soothed our sighing;

And what shall we do

Now God is dying?

(The Priests within)

She was hungry and ate our children;—how should we stay Her?

She took our young men and our maidens;—ours to obey Her.

We were loathèd and mocked and reviled of all nations; that was our pride.

She fed us, protected us, loved us, and killed us; now She has died.

(The People without)

She was so strong;

But death is stronger.

She ruled us long;

But Time is longer.

She solaced our woe

And soothed our sighing;

And what shall we do

Now God is dying?