Mirrors

Your eyes, like mountain pools, reflect the deeps
Of skies unstained, save when across the blue
Some merry white-clad thought trips into view,
And as she dances, in your mirror peeps.
When Phœbus climbs the overhanging steeps
(Like new-awakened Truth) it is in you
He laves his golden loveliness anew,
Ere to the still enshrouded vale he leaps.

O wells of Joy! O soundless depths of Love!
Cooling the lips of every passer-by,
Must I believe that ever from above
Heaven gazed on thee with summer's favouring eye?
Nay, for herein a miracle appears:
Grief made you Wisdom's husbandmen of tears.
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