The Passing of Pan

Laughter, velvet-lipped, runs ringingAll along the woodland ways,While a strange, bewitching singingFills the glad Arcadian days;Ripple-rocked, the slender naiadsRush-fringed shores expectant scanFor attendant hamadryads,Heralding the path of Pan.

Through the swaying bushes sliding,Dark-eyed nymphs before him trip,And the god, with stately striding,Follows, laughter on his lip;While the wild bird-hearts that love himIn the haunts untrod by man,Riot rapturously above him,Heralding the path of Pan.

From the yellow beds of mallowsGleams the glint of golden hair,Nereids from the shorewise shallowsFling a greeting on the air;Slim white limbs, divinely fashioned,Of the fair immortal clanSway to harmonies impassioned,Heralding the path of Pan.

Round his brow a wreath he tosses,Twined with Asphodel and rose,As triumphant o’er the mosses,Song-saluted on he goes;Frail wood-maidens who adore him,When he rests his temples fan—When he rises, run before him,Heralding the path of Pan !