Once more into my Arid Days Like Dew

Once more into my arid days like dew, / Like wind from an oasis, or the sound

Of cold sweet water bubbling underground, / A treacherous messenger, the thought of you

Comes to destroy me; once more I renew

Firm faith in your abundance, whom I found

Long since to be but just one other mound

Of sand, whereon no green thing ever grew.

And once again, and wiser in no wise, / I chase your coloured phantom on the air, / And sob and curse and fall and weep and rise

And stumble pitifully on to where, / Miserable and lost, with stinging eyes, / Once more I clasp,-and there is nothing there.