Pan

Across the brake, by trails that lonely lie
Till lost where verdurous ways wide spreading run,
Divine Nymph-hunter, the Goat-footed one,
Steals through the forest with an eager eye.

'Tis sweet to hear at noon the freshening sigh
Of cooling springs deep hid in coverts dun,
When that bright vanquisher of clouds, the Sun,
His golden arrows at the dark lets fly.

A Nymph lone wandering stays her step. She hears
Fall drop by drop the morning's lovely tears
Upon the moss. Her heart drinks ecstasies.

But quick the God from out the coppice leaps,
Enclasps her, then with mocking laughter flees...
And once again the wood hushed silence keeps.