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. 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. 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. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A DEAD HARVEST (IN KENSINGTON GARDENS) by ALICE MEYNELL COBWEBS by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI THE METAMORPHOSIS OF THE WALNUT-TREE OF BOARSTELL: CANTO 2 by WILLIAM BASSE A FRAGMENT FOUND IN A LECTURE-ROOM by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE |