Far from the birds, the herds, the village girls
What did I drink, in heather to my knees,
Within a tender grove of walnut trees
In the warm green mist of an afternoon?
What could I drink in that young stream,
--Tuneless reeds, flowerless grass, cloudy sky!--
Drink from those yellow gourds, far from the dreame of
Hut? Gold that drunk brought sweat to the skin.
I might have swayed a queer sign for an inn.
--A long wind swept the clouds away. That night
The waters of the wood were sunk in sands
And a wind from God flung glass on all the ponds.
Weeping, I saw the gold,--and could not drink.
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