Excerpt:The Cup.As a hot travellerGoing through stones and sands,Who sees clear water stirAmid the weary lands,Takes in his hollowed handsThe clean and lively water,That trickles down his throatLike laughter, like laughter,So when you come to meAcross these parchèd placesAnd all the waste I seeFlowered with your graces,I take between my handsYour face like a rare cup,Where kisses mix with laughter,And drink and drink them upLike water, like water.