Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE POOL by EDWARD DOWDEN

First Line: A WOOD OBSCURE IN THIS MAN'S HAUNT OF LOVE
Last Line: THE BRINK, NOR SHEDS A TEAR NOW, IS HIS WRAITH.
Subject(s): LAKES; POOLS; PONDS;
A wood obscure in this man's haunt of love,
And midmost in the wood where leaves fall sere,
A pool unplumbed; no winds these waters move,
Gathered as in a vase from year to year.

And he has thought that he himself lies drowned,
Wan-faced where the pale water glimmereth,
And that the voiceless man who paces round
The brink, nor sheds a tear now, is his wraith.



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