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But year by year I wait and wait and wait,
And year by year I linger in despair; Yet still I hear the stern decree of Fate;
"No rain, No rain!" through white-hot noons a-glare.
O God, remember I was dear to Thee
In green, glad mornings ere I felt Thy frown. I am Thy daughter; hear and pity me,
Accurst and fruitless, withered, barren, brown!
A gray-haired virgin, still unwooed, unwed,
I waste away unloved and all alone; My bosom is a dried-up river bed,
The heart within it but a dusty stone.
o, all Thy gifts are held beyond my grasp;
I am a woman; let me sweetly rest, To feel a lover's arms around me clasp,
A tiny infant cooing on my breast!
No rain, no dew, from cruel sky or sea;
In restless, raging passion here I lie. Like Rachel I am crying out to Thee,
“God, give me children, or else let me die!”
DOVE OF THE DESERT.
Dove of the desert, so wild and so free,
What nook in this waste is dear unto thee? Around you I see the dead cactus stand,
And brown, withered weeds on hot hills of sand. Here yawns the red gully, here burns the dead plain,
Here hang the sharp rocks, all thirsty for rain. O dove of the desert, so wild and so free,
What spot in these barrens is blest unto thee?
Dove of the desert, around thee are spread,
In the alkali dust, the bones of the dead. No spring can be seen, no blossom uprears
Through the bayonet-bush with its porcupine spears. No cloud cools the brow of the hot, fevered plain,
Unbaptized, unblest, with the patter of rain. O dove of the desert, as meek as a child, What charm brings thee here to this death-haunted
Dove of the desert, you find a sweet rest
When sinking at night to sleep on your nest. The desert is barren, and sterile and hot,
Yet it gives to your heart a consecrate spot. I traverse great cities, yet I find no home,
On the crowded streets I in solitude roam. There out in the desert, you mate with your own,
Dove of the desert, I fare forth alone.
Pasadena, charming town,
In the dallying ocean breeze
Morning glories float and flow
Green pomegranates' blossom-stars
Here are scattered on her slopes
Mountain brook, wild mountain brook,
Hear the murmur of the pines,
Pause, O, pause before you leap