Page:Poems Cook.djvu/235

Will linger beside ye to dream and to dote
For a moment the mill-wheel may waken your wrath,
And disturb the repose of your silvery path;
But your passionate spray falls like rainbows at play,
And as gently as ever ye steal on your way,
Humming a song as ye loiter along,
Looking up in the face of a shadowless day.
Waters, bright Waters, how sweetly ye glide
In the brooklet, with blossoms and birds by your side!

 

Now the precious Waters lie
In a fountain never dry,
 "Full fathoms five" below;
While above, the moss is springing,
And the old well-bucket swinging
  To and fro.
Brown and busy hands are plying,
Fresh and limpid streams are flying,
  Splashing round;
Merrily the bumper floweth,
And down again the bucket goeth
 With a hollow sound.
Pilgrim bands on desert sands,
 With panting breath and parching skin,
What would ye not give to see
 That crazy bucket tumble in?
How gladly palms all dry and burning
Would help that old rope in its turning;
How the sore and cracking lip
Would laugh to see it drain and drip,
And prize each dribbling, icy gem,
Beyond an eastern diadem!
Let the merchant's garners hold
Silken sheen and molten gold:
Richer treasures still shall dwell,
Gather'd in the poor man's well,
  Dark and cold.

219