Sara Teasdale

Desert Pools

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.