Sara Teasdale 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.
Sara Teasdale