Classic Poem

'Lo! I am athirst,' said the brown earth,
'And I would drink my fill.'
'Have I not slaked thee,' cried the grey skies,
'From river, stream, and rill?'
'I would have wine,' said the hot earth,
'Red wine from hearts afire.'
'Lo! thou shalt arise,' cried the fierce sun,
'Clad in a new attire.'
'My fruit abundant,' said the fair earth,
'As never seen before.'
'Gladly shall I bear,' cried the proud tree,
'That ripe and luscious store.'
'My cloth so radiant,' said the vain earth,
'Shall wrap me in its sheen.'
'Deeply shall we weave,' cried the slim grass,
'In tender gold and green.'

'Lo! I am athirst,' said the hot earth,
'And I would quench my fears.'
'Then thou shalt taste,' cried the young maid,
'The bitter sweet of tears.'
'Have I not held them,' said the old earth,
'The dead unto my heart?'
'Under my white robe,' cried the chill wind,
'So a new spring should start.'
'Men must pale and die,' said the black earth,
'So men may rise and live;'
'And I was born thus,' cried the great town,
'In blood they slew to give.'
'Grant to me red wine,' said the brown earth,
'Else do I droop and tire.'
'As in the great past,' cried the pale hills,
'We drank of hearts afire.'
'In war have I grown,' said the fierce earth,
'Man against his brother.'
'Death's sheaves have fed thee,' said the green woods,
'Beast slaying one the other.'

'I have built my state,' said the proud earth,
'In strife and foul dissension;'
'Thy church uprising,' cried the grey rocks,
'From blood and hot contention.'
'Lo! I am athirst,' sighed the brown earth,
'Grant me red wine to spend.'
'As it was in the beginning,' said the great hills,
'And shall be to the end.'