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