For works with similar titles, see The Fountain.
THE FOUNTAIN
My garden fountain sings to-night,
Its margin is all moist with spray,—
That snow-white marble margin where
A white rose dreams of drooping day.
Its margin is all moist with spray,—
That snow-white marble margin where
A white rose dreams of drooping day.
Upon the rose fall rhythmic drops,
Snow-cool from the pale fountain's crest,—
Drops cooler than the shadows when
The sun leads day-spring to the west.
Snow-cool from the pale fountain's crest,—
Drops cooler than the shadows when
The sun leads day-spring to the west.
Unto the rose, my fountain's rim
Is ample joy, while I, through tears,
Can see my garden growing dim,
And dream of sorrow's girding spheres.
Is ample joy, while I, through tears,
Can see my garden growing dim,
And dream of sorrow's girding spheres.