Music by Vladimir Nabokov.

Midst everyday nighttime, there

sparkles
a fountain harmonious and high;
it plashes, it quivers, convoking
mirages of lands undescribed.

Around it there noiselessly hover,
immerged in its silvery spray,
dragonflies, their wings in a sparkling
counterpoint to the magic display.

The fountain, loftily floating
its wondrous, its silvery voice,
plashes, and quivers, convoking
mirages of love and of loss.

Undisturbed the dragonflies hover,
like diamonds sparkle their wings,
encircled by snowy-white roses
that follow the font as it sings.

Midst everyday nighttime, there sparkles
a music with billowing might,
that plays like a fountain harmonious
o’er the crowd’s noisome, philistine plight.

With its delicate plashing the fountain
has dissolved the sinister shade –
the dragonflies’ counterpoint mounting
were sparse echoes now-sparkling souls made.