Poems (Forrest)/Kassaptu
KASSAPTU(The Assyrian Witch)
The witch sits always in the shadow of the wall And under her blue robe she hides her handsThat never man may see the things she does at all, But my faint heart conceives and understands . . .She is weaving Seven spells . . . Making flowers out of clay and scenting them too sweet,For her voice is as the sound of Nippur bells Blowing to the desert from the street.
The witch sits in the shadow of the wall . . . And (braided like a warrior's of the race)The midnight of her tresses seems to fall To blot the silver moonlight of her face . . .Not a jewel does she carry on her amber throat and small, Every tooth she has is even, sharp and white—I can see them when she's laughing in the shadow of the wall For she never once comes out into the light.
I have a Scythian lover, strong and tall, And the witch has many lovers. I have one—I am languishing with fear lest he should pass this wall Coming in his chariot . . . out of Babylon.