O Fons Bandusi'! Push Back The Brambles, Berry-Blue, The Hollowed Spring Is Full In View; Deep Tangled With Luxuriant Fern Its Rock-Imbedded Crystal Urn. Not For The Loneliness That Keeps The Coigne Wherein Its Silence Sleeps; Not For Wild Butterflies That Sway Their Pansy Pinions All The Day Above Its Mirror; Nor The Bee, Nor Dragon-Fly Which Passing See Themselves Reflected In Its Spar; Not For The One White, Liquid Star That Twinkles In Its Firmament, Nor Moon-Shot Clouds So Slowly Sent Athwart It When The Kindly Night Beads All Its Grasses With The Light, Small Jewels Of The Dimpled Dew; Not For The Day'S Reflected Blue, Nor The Quaint, Dainty Colored Stones That Dance Within It Where It Moans; Not For All These I Love To Sit In Silence And To Gaze In It. But, Know, A Nymph With Merry Eyes Meets Mine Within Its Laughing Skies; A Graceful, Naked Nymph Who Plays All The Long Fragrant Summer Days With Instant Sight Of Bees And Birds, And Speaks With Them In Water-Words. One For Whose Nakedness The Air Weaves Moony Mists, And On Whose Hair, Unfilleted, The Night Will Set That Lone Star As A Coronet.