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.