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Now reading
To Kay
A shy deep stream of sombre water, Little daughter, little daughter; Not the surface-skimming brook Running where all others look, Or frankly spilling out your soul Into the overflowing bowl. No! for you a darker gliding Through cavern gloom, Under fossil foliage hiding Where buried gardens bloom And ancient roots in wide-coiled rings Multiply your wanderings. By what veiled lips were you taught The muffled music of your thought- Murmurous musing half-aloud, A star that wanders under cloud With a softly humming sound Of running shadow underground? Often, though close, I lay my ear Against the earth I cannot hear- Where the waters disappear. All is silence. None is meant To know the ultimate descent, Reaching with inaudible tone Secret strata all their own. See! a silver-bladed spray, Flashing upward, cuts the day, And falls back to a quiet pool Medicinal and sweet and cool. Dust-dry, salt-eyed, I found it there, With nightshade fringed and maidenhair. I drank the healing of the water, Little daughter, little daughter.