Excerpt from Poems
The First Hunger.
The apples are water, Dearest,
The dates are only sweet,
There is no flesh in the juice of the grape,
Nor life in the berry we eat;
In the blood of the kid we have slain
In our new and terrible greed,
Lies the gristle and marrow we need, -
In the pitiful yield of the grain:
The barley that beards the wild rain,
The corn that the crow contests,
The milk in the white wheat's breasts, -
Behold my red hands as I speak,
And the curse of the sweat on my cheek!
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