  I Haunter of green intricÁcies Where the sunlight's amber laces Deeps of darkest violet; Where the shaggy Satyr chases Nymphs and Dryads, fair as Graces, Whose white limbs with dew are wet: Piper in hid mountain places, Where the blue-eyed Oread braces Winds which in her sweet cheeks set Of Aurora rosy traces; While the Faun from myrtle mazes Watches with an eye of jet: What art thou and these dim races, Thou, O Pan, of many faces, Who art ruler yet? II Tell me, piper, have I ever Heard thy hollow syrinx quiver Trickling music in the trees? Where the hazel copses shiver, Have I heard its dronings sever The warm silence, or the bees? Ripple murmurings that never Could be born of fall or river, Or the whispering breeze. III Once in tempest it was given Me to see thee,—where the leven Lit the craggy wood with glare,— Dancing, while,—like wedges driven,— Thunder split the deeps of heaven, And the wild rain swept thy hair.— What art thou, whose presence, even While with fear my heart was riven, Healed it as with prayer? |
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