Poem by Rupert Chawner 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?

1. The Jolly Company
2. The Dance
3. The Great Lover
4. Song (All suddenly the wind comes soft)
5. The Funeral of Youth: Threnody

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