ROMAN FOUNTAIN Borghese Two basins, one the other overclimbing Out of an ancient rounded marble rim, And quietly from upper ones inclining To lower waters there awaiting them, The softly talking one with silence rhyming, And secretly, its hand cupped as it were, Past green and dark high heavens for it miming, A thing of which it had been unaware, Serenely spreading through its lovely shell Ring out of ring, without nostalgia, But rarely, drop by dreamy droplet, lacing Its seepage down a pendent fringe of algae To the last mirror sheet, which wreathes its basin From underneath in smiles of interfacing.