POETRY
BERCEUSE
Girl, first-born-oriole season,
First-born-the millet in bloom,
And sound of flutes in the kitchens
But grief at the heart of the Great
Who have only girls to their bow.
There will be gathering of the war council,
And expounding of doctrine in the halls ...
First-born, grief of the people,
The gods grumbled in the wells,
The women were hushed in the kitchens.
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Disturbed the priests and their daughters,
Disturbed the council of ministers
And the astronomer's reckonings:
Will you confound order and rank?
This is the error to correct.
From Queen's milk soon weaned,
For euphorbia milk soon fated,
For you no more the pout of the Great
Over the honey and the millet,
Over the bowl of the living.
Bearing a cicada and an oriole,
Under the gilded ceiling the ass-driver wept :
For whom now, my pretty cages,
And the water of snow in my leathern bottles,
Ah! for whom now, daughter of the Great?
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