LOOKING AT THE TAGUS

She led her flocks beyond the hills,

        Her voice backs to me in the wind,

And a thirst for her sorrow fills

        All that in me is undefined.

Spiritual lakes walled round with crags

        Sleep in the hollows of her song.

There her unbathing nudeness lags

        And looks on its pooled shadow long.

But what is real in all this is

        Only my soul, the eve, the quay

And, shadow of my dream of this,

        An ache for a new ache in me.