A man kneeling at a well is teased by others for always looking at the wrong angle to the light, so all he ever sees is his own reflection—himself framed by ferns and clouds like a god in summer. But once, just for a moment, he thought he saw a white, uncertain something beyond that shining surface picture, deeper down in the water. Then a drop falls from a fern, the surface ripples, and whatever lay at the bottom is blurred and blotted out. He is left wondering whether it was truth or only a pebble of quartz. The mood is wry and quietly searching: it catches the frustration of almost seeing something real beneath our own self-image, only to have a small disturbance make it vanish.
For Once, Then, Something — Summary
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 Me 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.