Page:The Single Hound; poems of a lifetime.djvu/182

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DID not reach thee,

But my feet slip nearer every day;

Three Rivers and a Hill to cross,

One Desert and a Sea—

I shall not count the journey one

When I am telling thee.

Two deserts—but the year is cold

So that will help the sand—

One desert crossed, the second one

Will feel as cool as land.

Sahara is too little price

To pay for thy Right hand!

The sea comes last. Step merry, feet!

So short have we to go

To play together we are prone,

But we must labor now,