Wilhelm Jensen (1837–1911)

AH, your too cool letters, dear,

Make me think of some cool spring:

From the depth, translucent, clear

Leaps the water, murmuring.

Babbling, bubbling wavelets splash,

Dancing downward from the height;

Flickerings of light they flash,

Making all the pebbles bright.

There’s a rushing, speeding on,

There’s a restless tearing past,

Pearling bubbles soon are gone,

Broken and dissolved too fast.

Yet, while waves are tumbling by—

Under boulders, here and there,

Placid pools of water lie,

Each within a sombre lair.

There arise strange, magic gleams,

Green and golden from the deep:

In the hidden pools, it seems,

Ah—some miracle must sleep.