The Woman Of The Well, Page 1 Of 3 Poem by John Bliven Morin

I walked a country road one day
To go to Galway Fair;
I thought of lights and dancing
And girls with flowing hair,
And food and drink and laughter
That soon would greet me there.

The road passed down through rolling hills
And through a wooded glen;
I stopped to slake my thirst and pause
A moment there, and then
I smelled cool, running water near,
And turned my head again.

Beside an ancient oak there stood
A woman fair to see,
In flowing gown of shining white
And eyes green as the sea;
At her feet, a cirque of stones,
And then she beckoned me

Within the cirque, a sacred spring;
Oh how the water swirled,
And glinted in the midday sun
As round her feet it curled.
Her form was mirrored on its face;
Seemed of another world.

She beckoned me to come to her;
I could not otherwise;
My will was wholly taken
By the shining of her eyes.
I step’t into the ancient spring,
Which mirrored earthly skies.

I following her into the depths,
And took her proffered hand
In fear, I closed my eyes as we
Descended further, and
When at last I opened them,
I looked on Faeryland.

I stood in silent wonderment;
No fairer land I’d seen
In all my earthly travels, no
Sky so blue, hill so green,
With shady glen and leafy bower
And a clear, cool stream.