Page:Romance of the Rose (Ellis), volume 1.pdf/87

But treacherous wave; the very thought
Of sad Narcissus’ dooming brought
The beauty of the fountain Fear to my heart. But soon I said:
“Whereof, O man, art thou afraid?
’Twere madness didst thou not essay
This fount wherein sweet sunbeams play.”
Forthwith then on my knees I sank,
Pressing the verdant mossy bank1590
With wish more closely to behold
The flood, and pebbles note (than gold
More bright), that freely paved the floor
Of that fair fount.
Without the door
Of paradise the blest, I ween
No sight more beauteous may be seen
Than this bright well. The gushing source
Springs ever fresh and sweet. Its course
It takes through runnels twain, full deep,
And broadly trenched; it knows no sleep1600
By day or night, for ne’er ’tis dried
By wasting drought of summer tide,
Nor hath stern winter’s iron hand
The power to make its waters stand
Immovable, but out the ground
Its babble calls, the whole year round,
Close, tender herbage, which doth push
Unceasingly, strong, thick and lush.
Fast in the fountain’s pavement shone
Two sparkling spheres of crystal stone,1610
Whereon my gaze with wonder fell:
And, when the tale thereof I tell,
Your ears will tingle as I trow,
And pleasure unto marvel grow.