As dream could paint, importunate fancy ask.
Morning and night a hunger filled my soul;
Ever my eager hands went out to sue;
And still I sped toward a shifting goal,
And still the horizon widened as I flew.
There was no joy in love, but jealous wrath;
I walked athirst all day, and did not heed
The wayside brooks which followed by my path
And held their cooling threadlets to my need.
But now, these warring fancies left behind,