Through the dreams of yesternight

My blood brother great in fight

I saw lying, slowly dying

Where the weary woods were sighing

With the rustle of the birches,

With the quiver of the larches....

Woodland fauns with hairy haunches

Grin in wonder through the branches

Woodland fauns that know no fear.

Wondering, they wander near

Munching mushrooms red as coral,

Bunches, too, of rue and sorrel;

Wonder at his radiant fairness,

At his dinted, shattered harness,

With uncouth and bestial sounds,

Knowing nought of war or wounds:

But the crimson life-blood oozes

And make roses of the daisies,

Persian carpets of the mosses—

Softly now his spirit passes

As the bee forsakes the lily,

As the berry leaves the holly;

But the fauns still think him living,

And with bay leaves they are weaving

Crowns to deck him. Well they may!

He was worthy of the Bay.