 | By The Way |  |
Near where the riotous Atlantic surge
Booms heavily in storm, far-heard at night,
And flings ashore the bones of murder'd ships,
Or, in a gentler time, the milky wave,
The whispering weary wave, lies down to rest,
Lives a calm Well of water, a large Spring,
Pure and perennial. Often have I watch'd
Its crystal heart with ever tremulous pulse
Dim the green lining of the hollow'd sand,
Thick-platted cress within a spacious cup
Full at the solstice and for ever cold,
A soft pulsation scarcely to be heard
Save by a loving ear. Whole caravans
Creeping in torture through a burning waste
By one such Fount were saved. But here it brims,
With purest overflow for barefoot girls
Who tread the mossy track to dip their pails
Into the lonely Spring—
Booms heavily in storm, far-heard at night,
And flings ashore the bones of murder'd ships,
Or, in a gentler time, the milky wave,
The whispering weary wave, lies down to rest,
Lives a calm Well of water, a large Spring,
Pure and perennial. Often have I watch'd
Its crystal heart with ever tremulous pulse
Dim the green lining of the hollow'd sand,
Thick-platted cress within a spacious cup
Full at the solstice and for ever cold,
A soft pulsation scarcely to be heard
Save by a loving ear. Whole caravans
Creeping in torture through a burning waste
By one such Fount were saved. But here it brims,
With purest overflow for barefoot girls
Who tread the mossy track to dip their pails
Into the lonely Spring—
| By The Way | |