"To the Unattainable"

   Oh, that my blood were water, thou athirst,
   And thou and I in some far Desert land,
   How would I shed it gladly, if but first
   It touched thy lips, before it reached the sand.

   Once,—Ah, the Gods were good to me,—I threw
   Myself upon a poison snake, that crept
   Where my Beloved—a lesser love we knew
   Than this which now consumes me wholly—slept.

   But thou; Alas, what can I do for thee?
   By Fate, and thine own beauty, set above
   The need of all or any aid from me,
   Too high for service, as too far for love.

Email Poem |