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MATIN SONG, by                    
First Line: Listen, my sweet, the great god pan is calling
Last Line: From him who pipes there on his grassy seat.
Subject(s): Yale University


LISTEN, my sweet, the great god Pan is calling.
I hear his shrill notes trembling on the breeze,
Hark to the piercing echo, -- waning, falling!
See how his hair gleams yonder 'mid the trees.

Nor pain to-day, nor worry for the morrow,
Let them not live before a strain so sweet!
And joys we lack, love, let us haste to borrow
From him who pipes there on his grassy seat.





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