He saw, as it seemed to him,
Two fountains peculiar and alone.
From the eagles nest the eye
Is hard pressed to miss the beauty of one,
Enlightened by the glowing, uncobwebbed lanterns,
Swaying in an unusual night breeze.
From depths of earth flow forth the source,
Of mighty waters blasting from twelve base holes,
Whose reaching strains to touch ten circular basin,
Piled High into the sky, cup upon ever shrinking cup,
Falling short of the blighted peak.
Outside beautiful gates lies, in a grassy gnole,
A replica of city fountain built just as tall.
But beauty appears unmirrored, unfound among the shoots,
Save the summit, where water trickles forth.
The water too differs much, in quality,
For none but those who swear by the tower,
Know of the source of its single crested stream,
Which, though it waters the top, fails to reach below,
And cracks may be seen forming on the parched base.
Two fountains stood peculiar and alone,
And he chose the one spouting truth.
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