Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE SPRINGS OF FONTANA, by AGNES MARY F. ROBINSON


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE SPRINGS OF FONTANA, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: The springs of fontana well high on the mountain
Last Line: Springs of fontana!
Alternate Author Name(s): Duclaux, Madame Emile; Darmesteter, Mary; Robinson, A. Mary F.
Subject(s): Italy; Springs (water); Italians


THE springs of Fontana well high on the mountain,
Out of the rock of the granite they pour
Twenty or more;
Ripple and runnel and freshet and fountain
Well, happy tears, from the heart of the mountain
Up at Fontana.

See, not a step can we take but a spring
Breaks from the roots of the blond-flower'd chestnuts --
(Look, in the water their long golden breast-knots
Flung in caress!) -- from a tuft of the ling,
From a stone, anything,
Up at Fontana.

Twenty or more, and no one of the twenty
Gushes the same; here the waters abundant
Babble redundant,
Filling the vale with the bruit of their plenty;
Here a mere ripple, a trickle, a scanty
Dew on Fontana.

Surely one noonday the Prophet in heaven
Slept, and the wand of the desert fell --
Fell to the rock, and the rock was riven.
Lo, all around it eternally well
(A miracle!)
The springs of Fontana.

Waters of boon!
Dluge or drought cannot alter your current,
Swift in December and icy in June,
Full when the icicle hangs on the torrent,
Full when the river is dry and the noon
Parches Fontana.

Over the rocks!
Over the tree-root that tangles and blocks --
Robbing from all that resists you a sunny
Scent of the cistus and rock-hidden honey,
Yarrow, campanula, thyme, agrimony --
Flow from Fontana!

Flow, happy waters, and gather and rally,
Rush to the plain.
Flow to the heavenly fields of Limain,
Blue as a dream in the folds of the valley;
Feed them and fatten with blossom and grain,
Springs of Fontana!

Rivers of springs,
Born many times in renewal unending,
Bright, irresistible, purest of things,
Blessing the rocks that oppose you, befriending
Pastures and cattle and men in your wending
Forth from Fontana.

Born (who knows how?) a mysterious fountain
Out of the stone and the dust of the mountain,
Bound to a country we know little of,
How shall I bless ye and praise ye enough,
Image of Love,
Springs of Fontana!





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