THE BLOOD OF RACHEL



                     A hafid

        You call me then a graybeard fool!
Though I have dropped the purple bloom of spring
The autumn's silvery down may indicate
The ripened fruit of wisdom which your youth
Has never tasted. Smerdis, you are blind!
My beard is white, but vision clear. The king
Does daily waste the substance of his realm,
And nightly dissipates his energies
In vices of the blood. Vashti, the queen,
The idol of her people, is in grief.

                     Smnerdis
In grief for what Does she too wish the king
To take the field I know our queen is fair
Of face and most voluptuous of form.
Perhaps her grief is due to jealousy.
Would she monopolize his love, because
Her beauty is surpassing

                     A hafid

                     Vashti does
Not know that she is beautiful. She loves
Her country and is brave as well as good.



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