<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=116025" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Indian Springs</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I KNOW a shady hollow 'neath the pines,<br>Rich floored with velvet moss and trailing vines,<br>Where grouping ferns grow lusty, tall, and green,<br>With sipping from the bowl o'er which they lean;<br>And crimson berries on the margin cling,<br>Like drops of blood about the Indian spring.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">On this same spot these many years ago<br>A graceful figure knelt and, bending low,<br>Wrist-deep in moss, one hand curved to a cup,<br>The water to her scarlet lips dipped up.<br>A heron's wing drooped from her dusky hair,<br>Which draped her rich-hued cheeks and shoulders bare.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Swift, stealthy footsteps took her by surprise;<br>She started, flushed, and met his eager eyes,—<br>A noble figure, young and lithe and tall,<br>With one proud eagle feather crowning all.<br>A pause, a word, and lo! the heron's wing<br>Brushed with the eagle's there above the spring.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Two cruel eyes gleamed from the piny shade,<br>Fixed on the bended heads of man and maid;<br>Sudden, a gray goose feather with a twang<br>Of hate and envy from the darkness sprang.<br>One shrilling cry—the heron wing was fled;<br>Low lay the eagle plume; the spring ran red.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The years have gone; new mosses veil the ground,<br>New ferns, new vines:—but here the spring I found,<br>And here the gray goose shalt its story told,—<br>A heart of flint 'neath moss and years of mold<br>And vines to which the blood-red berries cling,<br>I found an arrow by the Indian spring.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Abbie+Farwell+Brown">Abbie Farwell Brown</a> from <i>The New England Magazine / Volume 22, Issue 4</i><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=116025" data-title="The Indian Springs de Abbie Farwell Brown" data-description="I KNOW a shady hollow 'neath the pines,/Rich floored with velvet moss and trailing vines,/Where grouping ferns grow lusty, tall, and green,/With sipping from the bowl o'er which they lean;/And crimson berries on the margin cling,/Like drops of blo..."></div> </div> </div>

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