The World — feels Dusty

The World — feels Dusty
When We stop to Die —
We want the Des — then —
Honors — taste dry —

Flags — vex a Dying face —
But the least Fan
Stirred by a friend’s Hand —
Cools — like the Rain —

Mine be the Ministry
When thy Thirst comes —
Dews of Thessaly, to fetch —
and Hybla Balms —