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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!" |