(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 answereş't the faun's soft-footed stare: No influence, but thou feelest it is there, And drawest it profound, into thy hours. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WHITE PEACOCK by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET THE GIANTS OF HISTORY by JAMES GALVIN EGERTON MANUSCRIPT: 102 by THOMAS WYATT LOVE TO THE CHURCH by TIMOTHY DWIGHT THE JOURNEY ONWARDS by THOMAS MOORE ENGLAND IN 1819 by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY MRS. HARRIS'S PETITION: TO EXCELLENCIES THE LORDS JUSTICES OF IRELAND by JONATHAN SWIFT |