The Collected Poems of Rupert Brooke

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

   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 loathed 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?