Haunter of green intricacies, Where the sunlight's amber laces Deeps of darkest violet; Where the ugly Satyr chases Shining Dryads, fair as Graces, Whose lithe limbs with dew are wet;...
Oh, worthy of belief I hold it was, Virgil, your legend in those strange three lines! No question, that adventure came to pass One black night in Arcadia: yes, the pines,...
Pan loved his neighbour Echo - but that child Of Earth and Air pined for the Satyr leaping; The Satyr loved with wasting madness wild The bright nymph Lyda, and so three went weeping....
Till I shall come again, let this suffice, I send my salt, my sacrifice To thee, thy lady, younglings, and as far As to thy Genius and thy Lar; To the worn threshold, porch, hall, parlour, kitchen,...
The eyes of the portraits on the wall Look at me, follow me, Stare incessantly: I take it their glance means nothing at all? - Clearly, oh clearly! Nothing at all ... ...
It's forty in the shade to-day, the spouting eaves declare; The boulders nose above the drift, the southern slopes are bare; Hub-deep in slush Apollo's car swings north along the Zod,...
They told me once that Pan was dead, And so, in sooth, I thought him; For vainly where the streamlets led Through flowery meads I sought him-- Nor in his dewy pasture bed Nor in the grove I caught him....
Tufted and bunched and ranged with careless art Here, where the paving-stones are set apart, Alert and gay and innocent of guile, The little pansies nod their heads and smile. ...
When the earliest south winds softly blow Over the brown earth, and the waning snow In the last days of the discrowned March,-- Before the silver tassels of the larch, Or any tiniest bud or blade is seen;...
Nay, let us walk from fire unto fire, From passionate pain to deadlier delight, I am too young to live without desire, Too young art thou to waste this summer night Asking those idle questions which of old...
Yea, as I sit here, crutched, and cricked, and bent, I think of Panthera, who underwent Much from insidious aches in his decline; But his aches were not radical like mine;...
Pan came out of the woods one day, His skin and his hair and his eyes were gray, The gray of the moss of walls were they, And stood in the sun and looked his fill At wooded valley and wooded hill. ...
What hast thou done? Hark, till thine ears wax hot, Judas; for these and these things hast thou done. Thou hast made earth faint, and sickened the sweet sun,...
Can any one look so wise, and have so little in his head? How long will it be, Papa Poodle, before you have learned to read? You were called Papa Poodle because you took care of me when I was a baby:...
So Abram rose, and clave the wood, and went, And took the fire with him, and a knife. And as they sojourned both of them together, Isaac the first-born spake and said, My Father,...