460 <br /> <br />I know where Wells grow—Droughtless Wells— <br />Deep dug—for Summer days— <br />Where Mosses go no more away— <br />And Pebble—safely plays— <br /> <br />It's made of Fathoms—and a Belt— <br />A Belt of jagged Stone— <br />Inlaid with Emerald—half way down— <br />And Diamonds—jumbled on— <br /> <br />It has no Bucket—Were I rich <br />A Bucket I would buy— <br />I'm often thirsty—but my lips <br />Are so high up—You see— <br /> <br />I read in an Old fashioned Book <br />That People "thirst no more"— <br />The Wells have Buckets to them there— <br />It must mean that—I'm sure— <br /> <br />Shall We remember Parching—then? <br />Those Waters sound so grand— <br />I think a little Well—like Mine— <br />Dearer to understand—<br /><br />Emily Dickinson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-know-where-wells-grow-droughtless-wells/
