I WALK alone and cry out under the stars;
As one in a desert I hunger for refreshment.
I have need of the coolness of some azure pool,
Oh, I would anoint my bosom with the clear water!
Oh, I would immerse myself in the emulous depths!
Oh, I would drink of ineffable dreams.
You, Beloved, are the silvery lake shimmering in the desert of my youth.
You only can allay the fever of my spirit!
On your lips I should drain the fountain of life.
On your white breast I shall breathe the perfume of numberless lilies.
Therein I shall die a thousand deaths and arise reborn in the awful splendor of your love….
(Blanche Shoemaker Wagstaff)
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