O BABBLING Spring, than glass more clear, <br />Worthy of wreath and cup sincere, <br /> To-morrow shall a kid be thine <br /> With swelled and sprouting brows for sign,— <br />Sure sign!—of loves and battles near. <br /> <br />Child of the race that butt and rear! <br />Not less, alas! his life-blood dear <br /> Must tinge thy cold wave crystalline, <br /> O babbling Spring! <br /> <br />Thee Sirius knows not. Thou dost cheer <br />With pleasant cool the plough-worn steer,— <br /> The wandering flock. This verse of mine <br /> Will rank thee one with founts divine; <br />Men shall thy rock and tree revere, <br /> O babbling Spring!<br /><br />Austin Henry Dobson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/o-fons-bandusae/
