They told me Pan was dead, but I Oft marvelled who it was that sang Down the green valleys languidly Where the grey elder-thickets hang. Sometimes I thought it was a bird My soul had charged with sorcery; Sometimes it seemed my own heart heard Inland the sorrow of the sea. But even where the primrose sets The seal of her pale loveliness, I found amid the violets Tears of an antique bitterness. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LITTLE DANCERS by LAURENCE BINYON AN AUGUST MIDNIGHT by THOMAS HARDY TO AN INSECT by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES RORY O'MORE; OR, ALL FOR GOOD LUCK by SAMUEL LOVER THE VINE by MUHAMMAD AL-MU'TAMID II THE WARM CRADLE by LAWRENCE ALMA-TADEMA |