o the ache in the heart of the water that lies

underground in the desert, unopened, unknown,

while the seeds lie unbroken, the blossoms unblown,

and the traveller wanders—the traveller dies!

o the joy in the heart of the water that flows

from the well in the desert,—a desert no more,—

bird-music and blossoms and harvest in store,

and the white shrine that showeth the traveller knows!