“Shall I at least set my lands in order?” T.S. Eliot, The Wasteland “What ailed thee, O thou sea, that thou fleddest? thou Jordan, that thou wast driven back?” Psalm 114 (KJV) He sat by the Jordan and watched the blood Flow downstream, amidst the rotting debris Of cities: Cairo, Thessaloniki, Vienna, shadow-towers in dark mud, All swept up in the currents of the flood, With Pharaoh’s men, drowned in the parted sea, A Trojan shield, and Caesar’s stone decree. All this passed in the black, bone-riddled scud. Then the baptismal river brimmed and burst, Shouting and spitting, choking with the spray, But still uttering out a gurgling curse: “The sons of Canaan never can repay Their hollow god. You will not see the worst Till my waters run low, on that last day.”
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