Lent me a star from sea to sea,
The drop in his hand-hollow, Fate.
He holds it high, and signs to me
"Although She—She may not ..."
"For thirst
My songs and dreams like mirage fail.
Yea, mad "—his fellow pilgrim cursed—
"I was. The Queen lifts not her veil."
"Put no conditions to her glance,
O happy desert, where the guide