Dedication: To M. C. M. C.
They come to it and take
Their cupful or their palmful out of it.
Stones are around it, and an elder bush
Is there; a high rowan tree; and so
The well is marked.
Whence come the waters? Through what passages
Beneath? From what high tors
Where forests are? Forests dripping rain!
Branches pouring to the ground; trunks, barks, roots,
Letting the streamlets down: through the dark earth
The water flows, and in that secret flood
That's called a spring, that finds this little hollow.
Whence come the waters that fill cup and palm?
Sweetheart and comrade, I give you
The waters' marches and the forest's bound,
The valley-filling cloud, the trees that set
The rains beneath their roots, out of this well.