ASKING THE FULFILMENT OF HER LOVE
I ask for love who famished am in plenty,
Not scorning the dear manna of your tears
But being vexed with that too froward twenty
Which heads the sum of my rebellious years.
My soul is fallen ``in lust of cucumbers,
Of fish, of melons,'' through its long abstaining.
Unworthy Egypt yet enslaves my fears.
Ah, love, I thirst, but not for heaven's raining.
Why speak to me, alas, of heavenly joys
Who ask for joys of earth these cannot cheat?
What are these clouds, these pillars of fire to me?
The wilderness is long. Youth cannot be
For ever fed on these unnatural toys
And needs must murmur if it have not meat.

More verses by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt