The Fountain

by Sara Teasdale

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.