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The Fountain

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Written by Sara Teasdale

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 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.

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