1. Alas for him whose quiver's full, the water-holes are choked with sand,
Whose thirst the showers will not quench that from the clouds expended land,

2. Who, when he hears the locusts chirp announcing those they love to greet,
Is stirred to yearning memories of talks in friendship's circle sweet,

3. Whose nostalgia moves him forth whene'er the longing thought returns
As though 'twas mortal sickness — but that this is he who moans and yearns.