George Meredith (12 February 1828 – 18 May 1909 / Portsmouth, England)
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.
Comments about this poem (Alternation by George Meredith )
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