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

by Rupert Brooke, 1916

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?

Published in The Collected Poems of Rupert Brooke
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