POETRY.
THE FOUNTAIN IN THE PINE FOREST.
FAR off among those woods it rises More than a thousand miles from here : Some other eye it now surprises,
Its rustling soothes another ear.
The woods each side were black and silent, The road was dusty and blinding white : Down it as down a narrow funnel Came in full stream the noonday light.
The cart swayed over stone and rut : Huddled in hot, unhappy doze, I drowsed along with eyes half shut, Desiring only the journey's close.
But suddenly we lurched and turned And, round the corner, bright and thin And cool in the sullen trees there burned That fountain ! And my breath drew in.
I woke and spoke, hushed in surprise : They did not hear. The cart went on. Still the glare dazzled in our eyes, The wheels ground harsh on rut and stone.
Again we lurched and turned a corner.
Laughing, the driver shook his rein And shouted something that went by me : I sank in my hot sleep again.
Far off among those woods it rises More than a thousand miles from here : Some other eye it now surprises, Its rustling soothes another ear.
How far away in time and distance Is that bright fountain left behind Day after day the glimmering image Fades in the forests of the mind.
EDWA/N) SHANKS.
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