Darling daughter of Babylon—
Rose by the black Euphrates flood—
Again your beauty grew more dear
Than my slave’s bread, than my heart’s blood.
We sang of Zion, good to know,
Where righteousness and peace abide ...
What of your second sacrilege
Carousing at Belshazzar’s side?
Once, by a stream, we clasped tired hands—
Your paint and henna washed away.