Penetration

(Syrinx to Pan)
I love thee: never dream that I am dumb:
By day, by night, my tongue besiegeth thee.
As a bat's voice, set in too fine a key.
Too tender in its circumstance to come
To ears beset by havoc and harsh hum
Of the arraigning world; yet secretly
I may attain: lo, even a dead bee
Dropt sudden from thy open hand by some
Too careless wind is laid among thy flowers.
Dear to thee as the bees that sing and roam:
Thou watchest when the angry moon drops foam:
Thou answerest the faun's soft-footed stare:
No influence, but thou feelest it is there.
And drawest it profound, into thy hours.