[43]

his arm-turn, the path to the hills,

the sudden leap and swift thunder

of mountain boulders, his laugh.

She was mad—

as no priest, no lover's cult

could grant madness;

the wine that entered her throat

with the touch of the mountain rocks

was white, intoxicant:

she, the chaste,

was betrayed by the glint

of light on the hills,

the granite splinter of rocks,

the touch of the stone

where heat melts

toward the shadow-side of the rocks.

[44]

[44]

EGYPT

 Prev. P 64/71 next