The Well
By WILLIAM FORCE STEAD
FORTY feet under ground,
In a low light, with no sound,
The well-shaft goes to find the springs
Where sand whirls in dizzy rings
Spun by ever living streams
That trickle through earth’s broken seams.
In a low light, with no sound,
The well-shaft goes to find the springs
Where sand whirls in dizzy rings
Spun by ever living streams
That trickle through earth’s broken seams.
The walls with jagged rocks are set,
Dimly gleaming, cool and wet,
And glintings from the water thrown
Speckle the amber-shadowed stone.
Dimly gleaming, cool and wet,
And glintings from the water thrown
Speckle the amber-shadowed stone.
If from those ever silent walls
A single drop of moisture falls,
So loud it sounds, the spider leaves
Panic-stricken the web he weaves,
And scuttles to his caverned holes.
A frog with easy stroke patrols
The liquid deep; he, too, will stop
Astonished at the ponderous drop.
A single drop of moisture falls,
So loud it sounds, the spider leaves
Panic-stricken the web he weaves,
And scuttles to his caverned holes.
A frog with easy stroke patrols
The liquid deep; he, too, will stop
Astonished at the ponderous drop.
Obscurely by a glinting light,
In a crystal, cloudy bright,
I see the sand in dizzy rings
Kept whirling by unfailing springs
That still flow in, though who can say
From what green hill how far away?
In a crystal, cloudy bright,
I see the sand in dizzy rings
Kept whirling by unfailing springs
That still flow in, though who can say
From what green hill how far away?