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