Collected Poems of Rupert Brooke — On the Death of Smet-Smet, the Hippopotamus-Goddess

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?

The Song of the Pilgrims