I'VE heard the pipes of Pan Somewhere, just beyond,— Over the edge of dawn, I think, Where the clouds hang soft on the world's dim brink, Where the red suns rise and the blue stars sink, I heard the pipes of Pan! @3Hush! what you heard was the wind, The feet of the wind through the leaves, Or the sigh of the waking night as it stirred. Or a bird's note afar, Or the deep breath of June, Or the fall of a star, Or the shimmering skirts of the sea-slipping tide In the wake of the wandering moon!@1 Nay! 'twas the pipes of Pan! Somewhere—just beyond— My soul awoke with a rapturous sigh (Would I wake my soul for a night bird's cry?) I heard the winds of the worlds sweep by To follow the pipes of Pan! @3Stay! 'twas a voice that you heard, A voice that you love, in the wood, The vibrating note of a half spoken word— For the great Pan is slain, Of his pipings we know not one magical strain, They have fled down the years of a world that was young Oh, ages and ages ago!@1 Nay, 'twas the pipes of Pan! Somewhere—just beyond— Far as a star, yet piercing sweet, A passionate, poignant, rhythmic beat— Till my mad blood raced with my racing feet To follow the piper—Pan! |