The fountain bent and straightened itself <br />In the night wind, <br />Blowing like a flower. <br />It gleamed and glittered, <br />A tall white lily, <br />Under the eye of the golden moon. <br />From a stone seat, <br />Beneath a blossoming lime, <br />The man watched it. <br />And the spray pattered <br />On the dim grass at his feet. <br /> <br />The fountain tossed its water, <br />Up and up, like silver marbles. <br />Is that an arm he sees? <br />And for one moment <br />Does he catch the moving curve <br />Of a thigh? <br />The fountain gurgled and splashed, <br />And the man's face was wet. <br /> <br />Is it singing that he hears? <br />A song of playing at ball? <br />The moonlight shines on the straight column of water, <br />And through it he sees a woman, <br />Tossing the water-balls. <br />Her breasts point outwards, <br />And the nipples are like buds of peonies. <br />Her flanks ripple as she plays, <br />And the water is not more undulating <br />Than the lines of her body. <br /> <br />'Come,' she sings, 'Poet! <br />Am I not more worth than your day ladies, <br />Covered with awkward stuffs, <br />Unreal, unbeautiful? <br />What do you fear in taking me? <br />Is not the night for poets? <br />I am your dream, <br />Recurrent as water, <br />Gemmed with the moon!' <br /> <br />She steps to the edge of the pool <br />And the water runs, rustling, down her sides. <br />She stretches out her arms, <br />And the fountain streams behind her <br />Like an opened veil. <br /> <br />* * * * * <br /> <br />In the morning the gardeners came to their work. <br />'There is something in the fountain,' said one. <br />They shuddered as they laid their dead master <br />On the grass. <br />'I will close his eyes,' said the head gardener, <br />'It is uncanny to see a dead man staring at the sun.'<br /><br />Amy Lowell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/clear-with-light-variable-winds/
