He was like poplars shimmering in the sun; And like a lake among the lonely hills, Shining in the sun; And like snow upon the mountain heights, White, white in the sun.
Yea, He was like unto all these, And I loved Him. Yet I feared His presence. And my feet would not carry my burden of love That I might girdle His feet with my arms.
I would have said to Him: “I have slain your friend in an hour of passion. Will you forgive me my sin? And will you not in mercy release my youth From its blind deed, That it may walk in your light?”
I know He would have forgiven my dancing For the saintly head of His friend. I know He would have seen in me An object of His own teaching. For there was no valley of hunger He could not bridge, And no desert of thirst He could not cross.
Yea, He was even as the poplars, And as the lakes among the hills, And like snow upon Lebanon. And I would have cooled my lips in the folds of His garment.
But He was far from me, And I was ashamed. And my mother held me back When the desire to seek Him was upon me.
Whenever He passed by, my heart ached for his loveliness, But my mother frowned at Him in contempt, And would hasten me from the window To my bedchamber. And she would cry aloud, saying: “Who is He but another locust-eater from the desert?
“What is He but a scoffer and a renegade, A seditious riot-monger, who would rob us of sceptre and crown, And bid the foxes and the jackals of