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    Broke little trains of stones which jounced a while

    And clattered down into the brook beneath.

    The stone struck chill. The cleft wound in and down.

    How long he was descending, he knew not.

    But in his blood-grief and extreme fatigue

    He slowly knew that he had heard the sound

    Of falling water for some small time past,

    A wayward, windblown, rushing, chuckling sound,

    An intermittent music, bubbling up.

    

    And then he heard, within the water's voice

    A melody more fluent and more strange,

    A silver chant that wove its liquid length

    Along the hurrying channel of the stream

    And wound with that to twist one rope of sound,

    Silver and stony. They went on and down

    Steady and hearkening, and on either hand

    The wet walls narrowed. Then, around a bend

    There came an opening, and both horse and man

    Stockstill, with humming ear and dazzled eye

    Stared at a mystery.

    

    A kind of hollowed chamber in the hill

    Sheltered a still and secret pool, beneath

    A frowning crag, whose rim was cleft to form

    A lip for falling water, white with air

    Like streaming needles of a shattered glass

    Tossed as it turned, then smoothly combing down

    Like one unending tress of silver-white

    Holding its form beneath the basin's rim

    By virtue of its force and of the air

    Caught in its hurtling substance, spreading out

    Like pale and solid livid ice beneath

    The black and moss-green dappling of the pool.

    

    A rounded rock stood low among the curl

    Of dim-discernèd weeds, whose fronds were stirred

    By many little springs that bubbled up

    And seeped through coiling strands and stirred the plane

    Of the dark water into dimpling life.

    This rock was covered with a vivid pelt

    Of emerald mosses, maidenhairs and mints

    Dabbling dark crowns and sharply-scented stems

    Amongst the water's peaks and freshenings.

    The pensile foliage tumbled down the crag

    To join the pennywort and tormentil

    That wound below and wove a living mat

    Dark green, but sparked with gold and amethyst.

    

    And on the rock a lady sat and sang.

    Sang to herself most clear and quietly

    A small clear golden voice that seemed to run

    Without the need to breathe or pause for thought,

    Simple and endless as the moving fall,

    Surprising as the springs that bubbled up

    Now here, now there, among the coiling weeds.

    

    As milky roses at the end of day

    In some deserted bower seem still alight

    With their own luminous pallor, so she cast

    A softened brightness and a pearly light

    On that wild place, in which she sate and sang.

    She wore a shift of whitest silk, that stirred

    With her song's breathing, and a girdle green

    As emerald or wettest meadow-grass.

    Her blue-veined feet played in the watery space

    Slant in its prism-vision like white fish

    Darting together. When she stretched them out

    The water made her silver anklet-chains

    Glancing with diamond-drops and lucid pearls

    Which shone as bright as those about her neck

    Carelessly cast, a priceless brilliant rope

    Of sapphire, emerald, and opaline.

    

    Her living hair was brighter than chill gold

    With shoots of brightness running down its mass

    And straying out to lighten the dun air

    Like phosphorescent sparks off a pale sea,

    And while she sang, she combed it with a comb

    Wrought curiously of gold and ebony,

    Seeming to plait each celandine-bright trees

    With the spring's sound, the song's sound and the sound

    Of its own living whisper, warm and light

    So that he longed to touch it, longed to stretch

    If but a finger out across the space

    That stood between his blood-stained, stiffened self

    And all this swaying supple brilliance,

    Save that her face forbade.

    It was a face

    Queenly and calm, a carved face and strong

    Nor curious, nor kindly, nor aloof,

    But self-contained and singing to itself.

    And as he met her eyes, she ceased her song

    And made a silence, and it seemed to him

    That in this silence all the murmuring ceased

    Of leaves and water, and they two were there,

    And all they did was look, no question,

    No answer, neither frown nor smile, no move

    Of lip or eye or brow or eyelid pale

    But all one long look which consumed his soul

    Into desire beyond the reach of hope

    Beyond the touch of doubt or of despair,

    So that he was one thing, and all he was,

    The fears, the contradictions and the pains,

    The reveller's pleasures and the sick man's whims,

    All gone, forever gone, all burned away

    Under the steady and essential gaze

    Of this pale Creature in this quiet space.