Between the fountain and the rill
I passed, and saw the mighty will
To leap at sky; the careless run,
As earth would lead her little son.
Beneath them throbs an urgent well,
That here is play, and there is war.
I know not which had most to tell
Of whence we spring and what we are.
More verses by George Meredith
- A Roar Through The Tall Twin Elm-Trees
- Modern Love Xvii: At Dinner She Is Hostess
- A Stave Of Roving Tim
- Modern Love Xiii: I Play For Seasons, Not Eternities
- Modern Love Xv: I Think She Sleeps