Poems (Hardy)/The lion in the desert

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THE LION IN THE DESERT
HERE must I crouch beneath the shriveled sage, Until the night comes down upon the sand A-scorch with fiery day, where it has spannedWith senseless blue the desert's biting rageAt beast and bush, since morn, as if to wage A war of hate on all the hollow land. Here must I lie alone, a-thirst, unfannedBy stir of leaves, trapped in the sun's own cage.I know the bare pool by the dead cliff's foot; If the fierce sun lap it not all ere dark  As he laps my blood now, I'll bring her there,My mate, panting yonder at the hot root Of that white rock,—gate of the devil's park  Wherein the red sun finds his nightly lair!
II
Ah, drink, poor mate, here in the shrunken pool, Enough, now, till, when the darkest dark drops black, We follow forth the sprinkled shining trackOf the unhurting stars, slow by the coolFlow of low streams; the desert shall not fool Our footsteps out across its flaring rack Again, nor take our blood, nor toll us backTo grisly empires where the sun has rule:For we are masters of the world, not he; The night is always ours; not even the stars  Have dared to interfere, and the high moonGoes by her own white path, though she can see Ours leads the best way. There no desert bars,  And cool in thickets deep we 'll sleep at noon.
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