Others taunt me with having knelt at well-curbs Always wrong to the light, so never seeing Deeper down in the well than where the water Gives me back in a shining surface picture Me myself in the summer heaven godlike Looking out of a wreath of fern and cloud puffs Once, when trying with chin against a well-curb I discerned, as I thought, beyond the picture Through the picture, a something white, uncertain Something more of the depths—and then I lost it Water came to rebuke the too clear water One drop fell from a fern, and lo, a ripple Shook whatever it was lay there at bottom Blurred it, blotted it out. What was that whiteness? Truth? A pebble of quartz? For once, then, something