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 You had better consult, before you dig,
Some water-witch, with a hazel twig. “
“No, wet or dry, I will dig it here,
Shallow or deep, if it takes a year.
In the Arab desert, where shade is none,
The waterless land of sand and sun,
Under the pitiless, brazen sky
My burning throat as the sand was dry;
My crazed brain listened in fever dreams
For plash of buckets and ripple of streams;
And opening my eyes to the blinding glare,
And my lips to the breath of the blistering air,
Tortured alike by the heavens and earth,
I cursed, like Job, the day of my birth.
Then something tender, and sad, and mild
As a mother's voice to her wandering child,
Rebuked my frenzy; and bowing my head,
I prayed as I never before had prayed:
Pity me, God! for I die of thirst;
Take me out of this land accurst;
And if ever I reach my home again,
Where earth has springs, and the sky has rain,
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