Richard Chenebix Trench
Chidher's Well - Poem by Richard Chenebix Trench
Thee have thousands sought in vain
Over land and bareen main,
Chidher's well,--of which they say
That it maketh young again;
Fountain of eternal youth,
Washing free from every stain.
To its waves the aged moons
Aye betake them, when they wane;
And the suns their golden light,
While they bathe therein, retain.
From that fountain drops are flung,
Mingling with the vernal rain,
And the old Earth clothes itself
In its young attire again.
Thitherward the freckled trout
Up the water-courses strain,
And the timid wild gazelles
Seek it through the desert plain.
Great Iskander, mighty Lord,
Sought that fountain, but in vain;
Through the land of darkness went
In its quest with fruitless pain,
While through wealth of conquered worlds
Did his thirst unslaked remain.
Many more with parched lip
Must lie down, and dizzy brain,
And of that, a fountain sealed
Unto them, in death complain.
If its springs to thee are known,
Weary wanderer, tell me plain.
From beneath the throne of God
It must well, a lucid vein.
To its sources lead me, Lord,
That I do not thirst again,
And my lips not any more
Shall the earth's dark waters stain.
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