我想要英詩`the water carrier by john montague ...10分.....

The Water Carrier
Twice daily I carried water from the spring,
Morning before leaving for school, and evening;
Balanced as a fulcrum between two buckets.
A bramble rough path ran the river
Where one stepped carefully across slime-topped
stones,
With corners abraded as bleakly white as bones.
At the widening pool (for washing and cattle)
Minute fish flickered as one dipped,
Circling to fill, with rust-tinged water.
The second or enamel bucket was for spring water
Which, after racing through a rusty meadow,
Came bubbling in a broken drain-pipe,
Corroded wafer thin with rust.
It ran so pure and cold, it fell
Like menacles of ice on the wrists.
One stood until the bucket brimmed
Inhaling the musty smell of unpicked berries,
That heavy greenness fostered by water.
Recovering the scene, I had hoped to stylize it,
Like the portrait of an Egyptian water-carrier:
Yet halt, entranced by slight but memoried life.
I sometimes come to take the water there,
Not as return or refuge, but some pure thing
Some living source, half-imagined and half real
Pulses in the fictive water that I feel.