Stand you away from me who wait nor speak;
I was born at your feet but you have lost me;
Too well my flames have marked their kingdom out;
My treasure sank that struck your chopping-block.
The desert where the one firebrand took refuge
Has never called me out, nor given me up.
Stand you away from me who wait nor speak:
The clover of passion is iron in my hand.
In the dazed air through which I go my ways,
Time will clean up my face, little by little,
Like a horse aimless at his bitter plowing.
[DD & JM]