EPTAmong the greedy desert sands,
Amid a scorching desolation,
Anchar stands watch above the lands,
Alone — alone in all creation.
The nature of that dry domain
Upon the day of wrath created
This tree, and every leaflet's vein
And thirsting roots with venom sated.
The poison seeps throughout its bark.
By noon it melts and trickles, errant,
And at the coming of the dark
Condenses, viscous and transparent.
All birds and beasts avert their path,
But winds across the desert skimming
May come upon the tree of death
And flee with deadly droplets brimming.
And when its foliage is found
By moisture from a raincloud roaming,
The liquid oozes to the ground
Already with the venom foaming.
But man was sent by man's decree
To harvest this pernicious flora.
Without complaint, he sought the tree
And came with poison by aurora.
He brought the deadly sap and bough
With withered leaves, consumed by shivers.
The sweat upon his pallid brow
Was flowing into icy rivers.
He brought — and drained of strength, he lay
On birch-bark, sweating ever faster,
And so the servant passed away
By his indomitable master.
The lord his arrows then immersed
Within that viscid devastation,
And certain doom with them dispersed
To neighbors in their foreign nation.
