Thirst

 

From lands of famine we have spoken,

Before the coming down of rain,

Before the radiant one, the purest,

Has cleansed the fields of thirst and pain;

 

While trembling rivers lie and wait

Aswoon in yearning mute and long,

For God's white touch upon their limbs

To gather meaning for their song;

 

And still dark wraps the prisoned root,

Longing to shape its ecstasy

Of happy drink, in flower and fruit,

When glimmering rain shall set it free;

 

And little voices, little dreams,

And birds, and golden germs and seeds

Wait praying for your purity

To make them prosper in their creeds.

 

Before you come, O Beautiful,

Upon the unfilled heart of earth,

Only the words of sorrow move,

Only the songs of dust and dearth.

 

In silence come, in secrecy,

Or splendour of the lightning vow,

O come, O long-awaited come,

With purest touch on every brow.

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