THE
BURGOMEISTER’S WELL.
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A
peaceful spot, a little street,
So still between the double
roar
Of sea and city that it seemed
A rest in music, set before
[Page 124]
Some clashing chords—vibrating ye
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With
hurried measures fast and sweet;
For so the harsh chords of the town,
And so the ocean’s
rythmic beat.
A little street with linden trees
So thickly set, the belfry’s
face
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Was
leaf-veiled, while above them pierced
Four slender spires flamboyant
grace,
Old porches carven when the trees,
Were seedlings yellow in
the sun
Five hundred years ago that bright
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Upon
the quaint old city shone.
A fountain prim, and richly cut
In ruddy granite, carved
to tell
How a good burgomeister rear’d
The stone above the people’s
well.
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A
sea-horse from his nostrils blew
Two silver threads; a dragon’s
lip
Dropp’d di’monds, and a giant hand
Held high an urn on finger
tip.
’Twas there I met my little maid,
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There
saw her flaxen tresses first;
She filled the cup for one who lean’d
(A soldier, crippl’d
and athirst)
Against the basin’s carven rim;
Her dear small hand’s
white loveliness
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Was
pinkly flush’d, the gay bright drops
Plash’d on her brow
and silken dress. [Page 125]
I took the flagon from her hand,
Too small, dear hand, for
such a weight.
From cobweb weft and woof is spun
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The
tapestry of Life and Fate!
The linden trees had gilded buds,
The dove wheeled high on
joyous wing,
When on that darling hand of hers
I slipped the glimmer of
a ring.
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Ah,
golden heart and golden locks
Ye wove so sweet, so sure
a spell!
That quiet day I saw her first
Beside the Burgomeister’s
Well! [Page 126]
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