THE loves of gods of other days Still gleam moss-covered on thy walls, The fountain that still laughing plays Spatters thy marble as it falls In rainbows through the golden haze. And yet -- was that the whispering breeze? I seemed to hear the dryads laugh, The sound of clicking hoofs as flees The satyr, followed close by half A swarm of wanton, pillaged bees. The sunlight dies, the zephyrs fan The hillsides with the breath of wine; And fresh as when the gods began Come wood-notes weird and half divine, The gayly calling pipes of Pan. |