Poem by Sara Teasdale

The Fountain

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.

1. The Net
2. In a Garden
3. The Return
4. The Nights Remember
5. In Spring, Santa Barbara

John Whittier The Fountain ("TRAVELLER! on thy journey toiling")

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