SISERA
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.
| · | · | · | · | · |
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!'
The cloak of camel's hair for safe shrouding.
The lordly dish of butter, and the nail;
The hammer in the nervous hand of Jael;
The blow which crashed through temple and through brain.
A sheet of summer lightning, and red rain
Across the sleeper's sight. A sense of pain
But scarce begun ere sense and senses fail.
The sand-fed sun, low-lying on the lands;
The tent door curtained where a woman stands,
And the unspoken: 'This is whom you seek.'
The song of praise: 'The battle to the weak.
Praise ye the Lord, who hath upheld the meek.
The Lord who stayeth Israel in His hands.'