Classic Poem

I, in my pitiful flesh
Transfigured, have woven
Music of wilderness.

And now that my old fear is flung
Aside, I will hold
In my hands what hunger has sung.

From all the roads where I go
Shame like a red mist vanishes.
On—oh …

The desert is shaken with cries:
“Come, and I will be kind.”
I am the lover with frightened eyes.