A Woman's Reliquary [by Edward Dowden] |
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| LXIV. | LXIV THE VILLAGE WELL |
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 | A Woman's Reliquary |  |
LXIV
THE VILLAGE WELL
Beneath the beech-tree's dome of shade,
Her pitcher on the coping-stone,
There at the well the village-maid
Sits, muses, leans and dreams alone.
Her pitcher on the coping-stone,
There at the well the village-maid
Sits, muses, leans and dreams alone.
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She gazes down where glimmering lies
The girdled fount, discovering there
Those mirror'd stars which are her eyes,
That wavering gold which is her hair.
The girdled fount, discovering there
Those mirror'd stars which are her eyes,
That wavering gold which is her hair.
Nor know I whether memories haunt
These waters, or some hidden fire
Would be allay'd, some nameless want,
The trouble of some dim desire.
These waters, or some hidden fire
Would be allay'd, some nameless want,
The trouble of some dim desire.
Lean, lean, Beloved, you alone,
Here where my happiness, a well,
Trembles, here where a face has shone
Secluded and adorable.
Here where my happiness, a well,
Trembles, here where a face has shone
Secluded and adorable.
Gaze yet again where glimmering lies
The water of this fount of grace,
And watch intent! What if there rise
Wavering to sight the Naiad's face!
The water of this fount of grace,
And watch intent! What if there rise
Wavering to sight the Naiad's face!
| A Woman's Reliquary | |