70 FOR ONCE，THEN，SOMETHING
By Robert Frost
OTHERS taunt me with having knelt at well-curbs
Always wrong to the light，so never seeing
Deeper down in the well than where the water
Gives me back in a shining surface picture
My myself in the summer heaven，godlike
Looking 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 ripple
Shook 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．
