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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=529723" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Under the Waterfall</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Whenever I plunge my arm, like this, <br>In a basin of water, I never miss <br>The sweet sharp sense of a fugitive day <br>Fetched back from its thickening shroud of gray. <br>Hence the only prime <br>And real love-rhyme <br>That I know by heart, <br>And that leaves no smart, <br>Is the purl of a little valley fall <br>About three spans wide and two spans tall <br>Over a table of solid rock, <br>And into a scoop of the self-same block; <br>The purl of a runlet that never ceases <br>In stir of kingdoms, in wars, in peaces; <br>With a hollow boiling voice it speaks <br>And has spoken since hills were turfless peaks.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'And why gives this the only prime <br>Idea to you of a real love-rhyme? <br>And why does plunging your arm in a bowl <br>Full of spring water, bring throbs to your soul?'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Well, under the fall, in a crease of the stone, <br>Though precisely where none ever has known, <br>Jammed darkly, nothing to show how prized, <br>And by now with its smoothness opalized, <br>Is a grinking glass: <br>For, down that pass <br>My lover and I <br>Walked under a sky <br>Of blue with a leaf-wove awning of green, <br>In the burn of August, to paint the scene, <br>And we placed our basket of fruit and wine <br>By the runlet's rim, where we sat to dine; <br>And when we had drunk from the glass together, <br>Arched by the oak-copse from the weather, <br>I held the vessel to rinse in the fall, <br>Where it slipped, and it sank, and was past recall, <br>Though we stooped and plumbed the little abyss <br>With long bared arms. There the glass still is. <br>And, as said, if I thrust my arm below <br>Cold water in a basin or bowl, a throe <br>From the past awakens a sense of that time, <br>And the glass we used, and the cascade's rhyme. <br>The basin seems the pool, and its edge <br>The hard smooth face of the brook-side ledge, <br>And the leafy pattern of china-ware <br>The hanging plants that were bathing there.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'By night, by day, when it shines or lours, <br>There lies intact that chalice of ours, <br>And its presence adds to the rhyme of love <br>Persistently sung by the fall above. <br>No lip has touched it since his and mine <br>In turns therefrom sipped lovers' wine.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Thomas+Hardy">Thomas Hardy</a><div class=q>
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<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=529723" data-title="Under the Waterfall de Thomas Hardy" data-description="'Whenever I plunge my arm, like this, 
In a basin of water, I never miss 
The sweet sharp sense of a fugitive day 
Fetched back from its thickening shroud of gray. 
Hence the only prime 
And real love-rhyme 
That I know by heart, 
And that leaves ..."></div>
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