The Fountain

by Sara Teasedale
On in the deep blue night
   The fountain sang alone;
It sang to the drowsy heart
   Of the 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.