Lamenting The Absence Of A Cherished Friend

Though small my basket, all my toil    Filled it with mouse-ears but in part.  I set it on the path, and sighed    For the dear master of my heart.  My steeds, o'er-tasked, their progress stayed,    When midway up that rocky height.  Give me a cup from that gilt vase--    When shall this longing end in sight?  To mount that lofty ridge I drove,    Until my steeds all changed their hue.  A cup from that rhinoceros's horn    May help my longing to subdue.  Striving to reach that flat-topped hill,    My steeds, worn out, relaxed their strain;  My driver also sank oppressed:--    I'll never see my lord again!