Gateway to the Classics: Display Item
Hilda Conkling


Said the fountain to its clear bed,

"You might flow faster!

I am sprinkling my best, every day,

But ice is holding you fast.

Can't you get out?

Can't you lift yourself with sun?

I am tired waiting for slow cold water

To fling about the air:

Can't you wake yourself up?"

But the fountain-basin murmured softly

"Sleep . . . sleep . . .

Sleep . . . sleep . . .

You with your talking and talking!

Hush . . . hush . . .

I hear the bird-sandman!"