The Springs of Fontana
Fell to the rock, and the rock was riven.
Lo, all around it eternally well
(A miracle!)
The springs of Fontana.
Waters of boon!
Deluge or drought cannot alter your current,
Swift in December and icy in June,
Full when the icicle hangs on the torrent,
Full when the river is dry and the noon
Parches Fontana.
Over the rocks!
Over the tree-root that tangles and blocks—
Robbing from all that resists you a sunny
Scent of the cistus and rock-hidden agrimony—
Yarrow, campanula, thyme, agrimony—
Flow from Fontana!
Flow, happy waters, and gather and rally.
Rush to the plain.
Flow to the heavenly fields of Limain,
Blue as a dream in the folds of the valley;
Feed them and fatten with blossom and grain,
Springs of Fontana!
Rivers of springs.
Born many times in renewal unending.
Bright, irresistible, purest of things.
Blessing the rocks that oppose you, befriending
Pastures and cattle and men in your wending
Forth from Fontana.
Born (who knows how?) a mysterious fountain
Out of the stone and the dust of the mountain,
Bound to a country we know little of.
How shall I bless ye and praise ye enough.
Image of Love,
Springs of Fontana!
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