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.