I pressed my lips together and stood stiff-limbed, my gaze fixed on a jasmine blossom...

You cried out in a despairing voice:

"I love you very much, Mona, and I want you to be sure of it! All I want from you now is your help, so that afterward we may be together always... In a week I shall take you to a friend of mine who loves children dearly, to spend your holiday with her. She will take great care of you, and she will make ready for you a beautiful room, far more beautiful than this one, and..."

You fell suddenly silent. I raised my eyes to you and saw the tears covering your face and the despair streaming from your eyes... I threw myself upon you and cried out, as though you were the child and I the mother:

"I will go, Mama, if it pleases you — but never leave me after that"...

You wept and kissed me as you used to kiss me before, fiercely and hard; then you wiped my face for me, and we walked together to the dining table... After that you took me to your friend's house, and there I saw her for the first time — that gentle, noble lady who has been "Mama" to me from that day... She took me in her arms, saying:

"Welcome, my darling. I have made ready for you a room as pretty as you are; you will love it. Come, let us see it."

We went in together, and you stood at the door watching my face, imploring, beseeching. And I said, trying to smile, without looking at you:

"It is beautiful, and I thank you very, very much."

I heard you sigh, as though a

This poem was recited on the occasion of Israel's diversion of the course of the Jordan, in October 1954, and came as a sincere expression of wounded national feeling.

O Jordan, the two sentinels have slept —

You have been Arab since an age gone by —

We have sold souls that were for sale —

And contented ourselves with a lukewarm protest —

We have lost the land and our living together —

Our blood is like water in the public market —

We are a people who do not see tomorrow's fire —

We shut the eye, that it may finish its sleep —

Be strong, O river, and do not —

As you were, so be always, and do not —

He runs on, perishing in his newness —

You are a spring of hopes in our land —

O river, faithfulness! For we —

You are our symbol in the breast of the heights —

The byname of the land in which we dwell —

The title of the king — and how great it is —

O Jordan, the two sentinels have slept —

We shall see no faithfulness from you, now that —

Perhaps you hope through us for the guarding of the sanctuary —

And call upon the Arabs in their lands —

Amman

— or have the two banks forsaken your love?

Are you content, like us, with this abasement,

in the race for glory on the day of the wager,

and a screeching that no ears heed?

Shall we complain of thirst before the appointed time,

fair spoil to the strong and the coward alike?

Our eye fears blindness amid the smoke,

before an awakening that resounds in the heart.

Twist not between the hands of the two foxes;

swerve not, O river; do not fear time.

You — this flowing cannot wear you away;

you and the Yarmouk are from the valley of paradise.

We sip from you life and milk;

you have among us a standing — and what a standing!

The honor of the crown and the glory of the scepter,

in which hopes and safety have blossomed.

And the two banks were laid open within your sanctuary;

your eyes were cast down, and the tongue was unsheathed;

yet you demand of us faithfulness and tenderness,

'Keep me — an interpreter for the heights of glory.'