Judith

“Repent, or I will come unto thee quickly, and will fight thee with the sword of my mouth.”

-Revelation ii. 16.

I

Ashkelon is not cut off with the remnant of a valley.

Baldness dwells not upon Gaza.

The field of the valley is mine, and it is clothed in verdure.

The steepness of Baal-perazim is mine;

And the Philistines spread themselves in the valley of Rephaim.

They shall yet be delivered into my hands.

For the God of Battles has gone before me!

The sword of the mouth shall smite them to dust.

I have slept in the darkness-

But the seventh angel woke me, and giving me a sword of flame, points to the blood-ribbed cloud, that lifts his reeking head above the mountain.

Thus am I the prophet.

I see the dawn that heralds to my waiting soul the advent of power.

Power that will unseal the thunders!

Power that will give voice to graves!

Graves of the living;

Graves of the dying;

Graves of the sinning;

Graves of the loving;

Graves of the despairing;

And oh! graves of the deserted!

These shall speak, each as their voices shall be loosed.

And the day is dawning.

II

Stand back, ye Philistines!

Practice what ye preach to me;

I heed ye not, for I know ye all.

Ye are living burning lies, and profanation to the garments which with stately steps ye sweep you marble palaces.

Ye places of Sin, around which the damning evidence of guilt hangs like a reeking vapor.

Stand back!

I would pass up the golden road of the world.

A place in the ranks awaits me.

I know that ye are hedged on the borders of my path.

Lie and tremble, for ye well know that I hold with iron grasp the battle axe.

Creep back to your dark tents in the valley.

Slouch back to your haunts of crime.

Ye do not know me, neither do ye see me.

But the sword of the mouth is unsealed, and ye coil yourselves in slime and bitterness at my feet.

I mix your jeweled heads, and your gleaming eyes, and your hissing tongues with the dust.

My garments shall bear no mark of ye.

When I shall return this sword to the angel, your foul blood will not stain its edge.

It will glimmer with the light of truth, and the strong arm shall rest.

III

Stand back!

I am no Magdalene waiting to kiss the hem of your garment.

It is mid-day.

See ye not what is written on my forehead?

I am Judith!

I wait for the head of my Holofernes!

Ere the last tremble of the conscious death-agony shall have shuddered, I will show it to ye with the long black hair clinging to the glazed eyes, and the great mouth opened in search of voice, and the strong throat all hot and reeking with blood, that will thrill me with wild unspeakable joy as it courses down my bare body and dabbles my cold feet!

My sensuous soul will quake with the burden of so much bliss.

Oh, what wild passionate kisses will I draw up from that bleeding mouth!

I will strangle this pallid throat of mine on the sweet blood!

I will revel in my passion.

At midnight I will feast on it in the darkness.

For it was that which thrilled its crimson tides of reckless passion through the blue veins of my life, and made them leap up in the wild sweetness of Love and agony of Revenge!

I am starving for this feast.

Oh forget not that I am Judith!

And I know where sleeps Holofernes.

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• Westward on the High-Hilled Plains poem – A. E. Housman by Alfred Edward Houseman
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• Tis Time, I Think, By Wenlock Town poem – A. E. Housman by Alfred Edward Houseman
• Tis Time, I Think, By Wenlock Town poem – A. E. Housman by Alfred Edward Houseman
• Think No More, Lad poem – A. E. Housman by Alfred Edward Houseman
• Think No More, Lad poem – A. E. Housman by Alfred Edward Houseman
• There Pass the Careless People poem – A. E. Housman by Alfred Edward Houseman
• There Pass the Careless People poem – A. E. Housman by Alfred Edward Houseman
• The Winds Out of the West Land Blow poem – A. E. Housman by Alfred Edward Houseman
• The Winds Out of the West Land Blow poem – A. E. Housman by Alfred Edward Houseman
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• The Welsh Marches poem – A. E. Housman by Alfred Edward Houseman
• The True Lover poem – A. E. Housman by Alfred Edward Houseman
• The Street Sounds to the Soldiers’ Tread poem – A. E. Housman by Alfred Edward Houseman
• The Stinging Nettle poem – A. E. Housman by Alfred Edward Houseman
• The Stinging Nettle poem – A. E. Housman by Alfred Edward Houseman
• The Recruit poem – A. E. Housman by Alfred Edward Houseman
• The Recruit poem – A. E. Housman by Alfred Edward Houseman
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