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 My spirit wails for water, water now! 
My tongue is aching dry, my throat is hot 
For water, fresh rain shaken from a bough, 
Or dawn dews heavy in some leafy spot.
My hungry body's burning for a swim In sunlit water where the air is cool, As in Trout Valley where upon a limb The golden finch sings sweetly to the pool.
Oh water, water, when the night is done, When day steals gray-white through the windowpane, Clear silver water when I wake, alone, All impotent of parts, of fevered brain; Pure water from a forest fountain first, To wash me, cleanse me, and to quench my thirst!

Poem by Claude Mckay
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