Teste Sibylla
With a great cry the Sibyl woke and left
The long walls of Assyrian Babylon,
Wrenching her torn black robes and locks undone
From them that hung upon her right and left.
Pale, shrieking, mad, the curious crowd she cleft
Swift as a homing swallow, and darted on
Thro' leagues of tawny solitude alone.
Prophesying a riddle as one bereft . . .
"Not for to-day I speak, but for to-morrow!
Mad, call me ! Liar, call me ! Sage and priest,
To-morrow I shall be the fount of Truth!"
But once she faltered, babbling words of ruth
And yearning hope, and a new tender sorrow.
While up in heaven a star rose in the east.
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