What the Miner in the Desert Said

The moon's a brass-hooped water-keg,

A wondrous water-feast.

If I could climb the ridge and drink

And give drink to my beast;

If I could drain that keg, the flies

Would not be biting so,

My burning feet be spry again,

My mule no longer slow.

And I could rise and dig for ore,

And reach my fatherland,

And not be food for ants and hawks

And perish in the sand.