I love too much; I am a river Surging with spring that seeks the sea, I am too generous a giver, Love will not stoop to drink of me.
her feet will turn to desert places Shadowless, reft of rain and dew, Where stars stare down with sharpened faces From heavens pitilessly blue.
And there at midnight sick with faring, she will stoop down in her desire To slake the thirst grown past all bearing In stagnant water keen as fire.
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