Ix

Beloved, when far up the mountain side We found, almost at eventide, Our spring, how far we did fear Lest it should dare the trackless wood And disappear! And lost all heart when on the crest we stood And saw it spent in mist below! Yet ever surer was its flow, And, ever gathering to its own New springs of which we had not known, To fairer meadows Swept exultant from the woodland shadows; And when at last upon the baffling plain We thought it scattered like a ravelled skein,-- Lo, tranquil, free, Its longed-for home, the wide unfathomable sea!