He drops on the sandy folds,
Of a deathly bed,
A lost traveler of a mighty desert,
Parched throat, cracked skin,
He is his own Messiah,
Or another vagabond victim,
Wandering with no hopeful terminus,

Not a little help from the exalted sky,
Nor a sign from the noble stars,
Upon him the proud sun spread his wings,
Like a second...