XVII
Pale rose leaves have fallen
In the fountain water;
And soft reedy flute-notes
Pierce the sultry quiet.
But I wait and listen, 5
Till the trodden gravel
Tells me, all impatience,
It is Phaon’s footstep.
Pale rose leaves have fallen
In the fountain water;
And soft reedy flute-notes
Pierce the sultry quiet.
But I wait and listen, 5
Till the trodden gravel
Tells me, all impatience,
It is Phaon’s footstep.