THE cattle crowding round this beverage clear To slake their thirst, with reckless hoofs have trod The encircling turf into a barren clod; Through which the waters creep, then disappear, Born to be lost in Derwent flowing near; Yet, o'er the brink, and round the limestone cell Of the pure spring (they call it the "Nun's Well," Name that first struck by chance my startled ear) A tender Spirit broods -- the pensive Shade Of ritual honours to this Fountain paid By hooded Votaresses with saintly cheer; Albeit oft the Virgin-mother mild Looked down with pity upon eyes beguiled Into the shedding of "too soft a tear." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BONNYBELL: THE GRAY SPHEX by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SWALLOW FLIGHT by SARA TEASDALE THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 88. A DAY IN SUSSEX by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE KING OF SPAIN by MAXWELL BODENHEIM SUMMER WIND by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 8 by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN PHILOMELA by JOHN CROWE RANSOM UPON MY FATHERS SUDDEN & DANGEROUS SICKNESS by JOSEPH BEAUMONT |