University of Virginia Library

THE FOUNTAIN.

I had a vision of a fountain fair
Whose home was heaven, whose path the purple air;
It clove a mountain's living heart, and fell
Soft as the snow, sweet as a silver bell,
Throughout all space and time for ever on
By laughing lea and pillared Parthenon,
And green green valley where the golden grape
Drew in the summer and took hue and shape
Mid red rose maidens white; for ever down,
By stony steppe, and black tormented town
At evil strife where angry figures reared
Rebellious brows of hate and disappeared,
Through solitude of sullen waste and smoke
Of countless peoples that as billows broke
At the calm feet of God like weary spray,
And flashed a moment and then passed away;
For ever on, for ever down it fell,
A thing of wonder, an ineffable
Joy, in a lengthening line of light . . . A cloud
Of glory beyond measure pure and proud,
Above its head hung as the sunrise breaks
First upon some new world that just awakes
To life and conscious beauty and its wreath
Of stars like pearls and diamonds . . . But beneath,
Poised on a crag, a stately woman stood
In all the splendour of her womanhood,
Bare to her breasts; and the dark flowing locks
Threaded with dawn on those eternal rocks,
Made beautiful sweet midnight for a space
Around her; but the morning from her face
Shone out in conquering strength. A giant form,
Built to its perfect comeliness by storm
And stress of dangers trodden down, she set
Triumphant feet white on red ground, and met
The kisses of the sun with kiss. Her eyes
So full of stories and dear ecstasies,
Gazed down the broadening brightening stream, and took
All ages in the compass of her look.
But her clear hand, as carven out of stone,
Wrought by some artist who wrought that alone
And died content, a crystal pitcher held
Which with the sparkling waters laughed and swelled,
And overflowed and danced and laughed again
At its abundance of refreshing rain,
And overflowed in music and in might,
Always beneath the insufferable light
Of a perpetual summer—always thus
Poured out its wealth in multitudinous
Waves, as if (smitten by some prophet's rod)
That fountain was the broken heart of God.
And there she stood, and glanced not once behind,
Crowned with the beauty of all womankind.
Her gracious bust of snow, that rose and fell
In rhythmic rapture none might syllable,
Seemed laden with a universal love
That betwixt earth and heaven kept watch above
The kingdoms of the world, and cared for each,
And gathered every one within its reach,
Infinite, cosmic, and provided food
For high and low in that rich motherhood.
But under her I saw a boundless throng
Of many peoples, who with praise and song
Brought cups of precious gold and filled them high
From her, till theirs ran over and the sigh
Of souls beyond them stilled, and these once more
For others and yet these with bursting store
Exceeded, for the thirsty who their fate
Felt and the fountain sought at last though late,
And drank and lived. But ever, till the sight
Was lost in utter distance and delight,
I saw the myriads of the nations borne
By one wild impulse through the mist to morn,
And in their masses crowding with the pride
Of holy passion to the quickening tide,
And drinking, drinking still in the new day
New life, while every shadow passed away.
But yet with bosom bare the woman stood
In the full splendour of her womanhood,
And freely took and freely gave to all
Whoe'er would have and felt the secret call
And craving. High the mountain raised its breast,
That from its riven heart the living rest
Gave out in one unending stream. And on
The awful fountain flowed, the glory shone.