@3The Spirit of the Fountain speaks:@1 YONDER 's the window my poet would sit in While my song murmured of happier days; Mine is the water his name has been writ in, Sure and immortal my share in his praise. Gone are the pilgrims whose green wreaths here hung for him, -- Gone from their fellows like bubbles from foam; Long shall outlive them the songs have been sung for him; Mine is eternal -- or Rome were not Rome. Far on the mountain my fountain was fed for him, Bringing soft sounds that his nature loved best: Sighing of pines that had fain made a bed for him; Seafaring rills, on their musical quest; Bells of the fairies at eve, that I rang for him; Nightingale's glee, he so well understood; Chant of the dryads at dawn, that I sang for him; Swish of the snake at the edge of the wood. Little he knew 'twixt his dreaming and sleeping, The while his sick fancy despaired of his fame, What glory I held in my loverly keeping: Listen! my waters will whisper his name. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DIVINATION BY A DAFFADILL by ROBERT HERRICK CURFEW by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW IN MEMORIAM (EASTER 1915) by PHILIP EDWARD THOMAS THE HARLOT'S HOUSE by OSCAR WILDE THE KNIGHTS: DEMOS AND HIS FLATTERER by ARISTOPHANES OLD SARUM; LINES ON THE CONFERENCE OF THE ENGLISH CHURCH AT SALISBURY by ALICE COLBURN BEAL |