Desert

Desert

Desert

I

This profit yet remains

Of exile and the hour

That life in losing gains

Perhaps a fuller flower.

Not less the prunèd shoot,

Not less the barren year,

Which yields the perfect fruit,

Which makes the meaning clear.

For on this desert soil

A blessing comes unsought—

Space for a single toil,

Time for a single thought.

When in distractions tost,

Since oft distractions claim

For moments never lost

Of each its higher aim,

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