Sara Teasedale: The Fountain

The Fountain

On in the deep blue night    The fountain sang alone; It sang to the drowsy heart    Of the satyr carved in stone.
The fountain sang and sang    But the satyr never stirred— Only the great white moon    In the empty heaven heard.
The fountain sang and sang    And on the marble rim The milk-white peacocks slept,    Their dreams were strange and dim.
Bright dew was on the grass,    And on the ilex dew, The dreamy milk-white birds    Were all a-glisten too.
The fountain sang and sang    The things one cannot tell, The dreaming peacocks stirred    And the gleaming dew-drops fell.