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272 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1901
Let your holy Light shine from the height of heaven,
O living Aton,*
source of all life!
From eastern horizon risen and streaming,
you have flooded the world with your beauty.
You are majestic, awesome, bedazzling, exalted,
overlord over all earth,
yet your rays, they touch lightly, compass the lands
to the limits of all your creation.
There in the Sun, you reach to the farthest of those
you would gather in for your Son,†
whom you love;
Though you are far, your light is wide upon earth;
and you shine in the faces of all
who turn to follow your journeying.
Why, just now, must you question your heart?
Is it really the time for discussion?
To her, say I,
take her tight in your arms!
For god’s sake, sweet man,
it’s me coming at you,
My tunic
loose at the shoulder!
I love you through the daytimes,
in the dark,
Through all the long divisions of the those hours
I, spendthrift, waste away alone,
and lie, and turn, awake ’til whitened dawn.
And with the shape of you I people night,
and thoughts of hot desire grow live within me.
What magic was it in that voice of yours
to bring such singing vigor to my flesh,
To limbs which now lie listless on my bed without you?
Thus I beseech the darkness:
Where gone, O loving man?
Why gone from her whose love
can pace you, step by step, to your desire?
No loving voice replies.
And I (too well) perceive
how much I am alone.
And he said to Pepi:
‘‘I have seen defeated, abject men!—
You must give yourself whole-heartedly to learning,
discover what will save you from the drudgery of underlings.
Nothing is so valuable as education;
it is a bridge over troubled waters.
Just read the end of the Book of Kemyt
where you will find these words:
‘A scribe in any position whatsoever at the royal palace
will never be needy there.’
Now, as for what I have been told—
that you throw aside your studies
and live in a whirl of singing and dancing:
You go about from street to street,
and beer fumes hang wherever
Don’t you know beer kills the man in you?
It stiffens your very soul!
You are like a warped steering-oar
that gives no help to either side!
You are a shrine without its god,
a house with no provisions!
You are discovered scrambling up a wall
after breaking your confinement,
With people running headlong from you—
you deal them bloody wounds!
If you only knew that strong drink is destruction,
you would swear off the pomegranate wine,
You would not waste a thought on drinking-mugs,
and you would disown beer!