Poetry Archives

Oh in the deep blue night
 The fountain sang alone;
It sang to the drowsy heart
 Of a 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.