A found poem from Ruskin’s Modern Painters

Now the fact is
that there is hardly
a roadside pond or pool
which has not as much
landscape in it as above it.
It is not the dull,
muddy, brown thing
we suppose it to be;
it has a heart like ourselves,
and in the bottom of that
there are the boughs
of the tall trees, and the
blades of the shaking grass,
and all manner of hues,
of variable, pleasant light
out of the sky; nay,
the ugly gutter that stagnates
over the drain bars,
in the heart of the foul city,
is not altogether base;
down in that, if you will look
deep enough, you may see
the dark, serious blue
of far-off sky, and the passing
of pure clouds.