What Shall I Do?

But I, I want the ring of your arm around my waist. I want the kiss of your lips, long, long, on my waiting lips. I want the warmth of your gaze in my tearful eyes. My dear, my dear, I miss you. These words are now coming by themselves, covering the empty pages. They have thrown great stones into the mouth of the spring; but the waves, fearless, pour out of the openings at the foot of the thorns, well up by themselves in my desert. Ah! My dear! I miss you...