A Compact?

Far up the mountain-side today The slopes are baked and hot; I find no shade upon my way, And water-springs are not. Here, where a little gully's wall Takes shadow from the south, I see a tiny rillet crawl From out a stony mouth. Now, where the stream begins to fail Below a narrow brink, I carve a basin in the shale That small wild things may drink. A poor and shallow cup, at best, But good for beaks and lips. Slowly from out the mountain's breast The clearing water drips; And well I know when sunset light Makes sharp the canyon rims. My pool will wait the things of night, Where pure and cool it brims. . . . Spirit of nature, you that first Called rain-clouds from the sea, When next my needy mouth shall thirst Do you as much for me!