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.

His 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,
⁠He will stoop down in his desire
To slake the thirst grown past all bearing
⁠In stagnant water keen as fire.