"THERE SAT THE WOMEN WEEPING FOR THAMMUZ"
THE days begin to wane, and evening lifts
Her eyes the sooner towards the vales of sleep;
The yellow leaf upon the night-breeze drifts
And winter-voices thunder from the deep;
Thammuz grows pale in death, the Queen of Shades
Mocks sad-eyed Ishtar and her mourning maids.
Prostrate along the Babylonish halls,
On alabaster floors the women moan,
All unadmired the lilac-tinted walls