Where an ArrowLine desert bus Came exhausted to a standstill, And made small swirls in the greater dust, A long-eared hare on a hill Listened to the engine's cooling clatter, Saw pasty faces at grimy sills Look out at what was the matter. With fingerfine lips, from a cactus, A stolen blossom became the hare In the open purview of the bus, One-sided with a crowd of stares. Almost the timid leaper started,-- Taken by a kisser's shyness To see so many lips half-parted. Stilly as a waiting blossom does, The hare attended the airy all That sighed a quiet from the bus (Attentive now as if stalled), The arrow mastered enough to wait For what the desert deemed or willed. At unbidden wind, from dead-still Into dead dust the leaper leapt.