FOR ONCE, THEN, SOMETHINGBy Robert FrostOTHERS taunt me with having knelt at well-curbsAlways wrong to the light, so never seeingDeeper down in the well than where the waterGives me back in a shining surface pictureMy myself in the summer heaven, godlikeLooking out of a wreath of fern and cloud puffs.

Once, when trying with chin against a well-curb,I discerned, as I thought, beyond the picture,Through the picture, a something white, uncertain,Something more of the depths—and then I lost it.

Water came to rebuke the too clear water.

One drop fell from a fern, and lo, a rippleShook whatever it was lay there at bottom,Blurred it, blotted it out.

What was that whiteness?

Truth?

A pebble of quartz?

For once, then, something.

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