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．