Would but the Desert of the Fountain yield
One glimpse-if dimly, yet indeed, reveal'd,
   To which the fainting Traveller might spring,
As springs the trampled herbage of the field!

Would but some winged Angel ere too late
Arrest the yet unfolded Roll of Fate,
   And make the stern Recorder otherwise
Enregister, or quite obliterate!

Ah Love! could you and I with Him conspire
To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire,
   Would not we shatter it to bits-and then
Re-mould it nearer to the Heart's Desire!

Yon rising Moon that looks for us again
How oft hereafter will she wax and wane;
   How oft hereafter rising look for us
Through this same Garden-and for one in vain

And when like her, oh Saki, you shall pass
Among the Guests Star-scatter’d on the Grass,
   And in your joyous errand reach the spot
Where I made One-turn down an empty Glass!