The little sycamore she planted
prepares to speak - the sound of rustling leaves
sweeter than honey.
On its lovely green limbs
is new fruit and ripe fruit red as blood jasper,
and leaves of green jasper.
Her love awaits me on the distant shore,
The river flows between us,
crocodiles on the sandbars.
Yet I plunge into the river,
my heart slicing currents, steady
as if I were walking.
O my love, it is love
that gives me strength and courage,
love that fords the river.
(ca.15th - 10th centuries BCE)
translated by Barbara Hughes Fowler
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