Lament of the Flutes for Tammuz

"At his vanishing away she lifts up a lament,

'Oh my child!' at his vanishing away she lifts up a lament;
'My Damu!' at his vanishing away she lifts of a lament.

'My enchanter and priest!' at his vanishing away she lifts up a lament,
At the shining cedar, rooted in a spacious place,

In Eanna, above and below, she lifts up a lament.
Like the lament that a house lifts up for its master, lifts she up a lament,

Like the lament that a city lifts up for its lord, lifts she up a lament.
Her lament is the lament for a herb that grows not in the bed,

Her lament is the lament for the corn that grows not in the ear.
Her chamber is a possession that brings not forth a possession,

A weary woman, a weary child, forspent.
Her lament is for a great river, where no willows grow,

Her lament is for a field, where corn and herbs grow not.
Her lament is for a pool, where fishes grow not.

Her lament is for a thicket of reeds, where no reeds grow.
Her lament is for woods, where tamarisks grow not.

Her lament is for a wilderness where not cypresses (?) grow.
Her lament is for the depth of a garden of trees, where honey and wine grow not.

Her lament is for meadows, where no plants grow.
Her lament is for a palace, where length of life grows not."

-The Golden Bough, pg. 379-380

A while ago, I neglected to post this before class one day, hoping Dr. Sexson wouldn't mention it. He did but I decided to post it anyway because it is beautiful....and I found it but didn't take credit for it.