Song: The Cup.

    As a hot traveller
    Going through stones and sands,
    Who sees clear water stir
    Amid the weary lands,
    Takes in his hollowed hands
    The clean and lively water,
    That trickles down his throat
    Like laughter, like laughter,

    So when you come to me
    Across these parchèd places
    And all the waste I see
    Flowered with your graces,
    I take between my hands
    Your face like a rare cup,
    Where kisses mix with laughter,
    And drink and drink them up
    Like water, like water.