Strew, strew all your heads with ashes,
Hold your noses firmly and long;
I sing by the lightning's pale flashes
A wild and bituminous song.
The wind of the desert is sweeping,
Like fire by the dead Dead Sea;
There a Dervish appointment is keeping,
With a maiden from Galilee.
'Twas ever a salty engulpher,
In horrors excessively rich;