With twisted arms stretched to relentless sun On this bleak terrain, panting in the dry Expanse of scorching sand, I lift my cry To spiteful desert gods who, mocking, shun My plea with brazen laughter. I am one Martyred by drouth while torrid fates deny My hungry veins their sap, and I shall die Stark and distorted when my span is done. Sometimes I dream that I have known a day When my starved roots drank of a sparkling, deep, Cool river; when my head was laved by rain That on my happy leaves in blessing lay... Then dawn's red furnace opens, blasts my sleep -- I wake! ...to writhe in ancient, thirsting pain! |