Fables in Song By Robert Lord Lytton |
 | I. |
 | I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. | XVII.
CONTAGION. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| II. |
 | Fables in Song |  |
116
XVII. CONTAGION.
A brooklet, born above a mountain moor,
Down to the level of the world below
Perforce descending, past a dyer's door
Down to the level of the world below
Perforce descending, past a dyer's door
Foul with pollution thro' the plain did flow.
The waters of this brooklet from on high,
Still pure and splendid as the spotless snow,
The waters of this brooklet from on high,
Still pure and splendid as the spotless snow,
Beneath them could their sunken sisters spy
All soil'd and spoil'd, as when spilt wine doth stain
A pot-house floor. Whereat they brawl'd out “Fie!”
All soil'd and spoil'd, as when spilt wine doth stain
A pot-house floor. Whereat they brawl'd out “Fie!”
A traveller, who had climb'd the hill with pain,
And knew the world beneath it far and wide,
Smiled at the inexperienced disdain
And knew the world beneath it far and wide,
Smiled at the inexperienced disdain
Of those immaculate waters, and replied,
“Wait, pretty fools, until down there you get.
Had they not pass'd the dyer's door, undyed
And white as you would be those waters yet.”
“Wait, pretty fools, until down there you get.
Had they not pass'd the dyer's door, undyed
And white as you would be those waters yet.”
| Fables in Song | |