  His mind has neither need nor power to know The foolish things that men call right and wrong. For him the streams of pleasant love-wind flow, For him the mystic, sleep-compelling song. Through love he rules his love-made universe, And sees with eyes by ignorance made keen The fauns and elves whom older eyes disperse, Great Pan and all the fairies with their queen. King gods, I pray, bestow on him this dole, Not wisdom, wealth, nor mighty deeds to do, But let him keep his happy pagan soul, The poet-vision, simple, free and true, To hunt the rainbow-gold and phantom lights, And meet with dryads on the wooded heights. |
|
