There is a Fountain

The spring of Krim, from whence the Mysterie floweth;
where the good drink is produc’d and consum’d.
Where all are humble, where none is false
and sad tales no ear hear, as such words are unspoken.

There is a Fountain
design’d by no simple craftsman,
but by that hand that reacheth
from the Beyond.

There is a Fountain
worshipp’d by true seekers,
who will find in their seeking
the words from Beyond:

Who will hear that strange bugle call out magnificent,
who will find, verily, a peace forever valid.
And none shall wrest it from their grasp,
as they grasp, indeed, Eternally, Forever.

There is a Fountain
by the great Livare, in that place
where I once stepp’d, yet stand
no more.

There is a Fountain
that was lost to mankind
as we crossed the threshold and
denied the Maker.