’Twas there in Tempé that he lay

Under a plane-tree, fast asleep,

His pipes far-flung.—Pan! growing gray;

Lines on his mocking face; his gay

Scuffling hoofs forgot to leap.

The river pleaded, “Wake the God”;

The birds sat by with soft aside;

Up from the delicate spring-sod

I saw the eager flowers nod,

And little leaves my language tried.

I woke Pan. Bore the deep earth-gaze

On my false being, false to life

By all the dreary modern ways:

“Pan,” I dared whisper—“long the days—

One needs thy music in the Strife.

“Full many a spring when poppies fired

This brook-side, did I play for you.”

Pan answered me: “My music tired,

For colder music you desired;

So be it—I am weary too!”

“Forgive me for my sad unworth,

Oh, patient Pan,” I murmured low.

“I know that I have failed the earth;

Only, perhaps, by spirit-birth,

My children thy wild pipes will know.”

Pan frowned: “Nay, all the world doth rave;

Against the Pipe; they rant, like you!

Go, people my deserted cave

With theories and books. Zeus save

That I should hinder what you do!”

Far back in Tempé’s leafy glade

The dappled sunshine filtered through,

And dewdrops opalled every blade.

I was not of the god afraid.—

And still there was a thing to do.

“Ah, Pan, dear Pan,” I softly cried,

“Who is it that shall save but thee?

Thy music, god, the whole world wide,

Is listened for on country-side,

And every dreamer bows the knee!

“By musky grapes in rosy hands,

And all the golden fruits that glow,

A happy lover understands

Thy fluting, hearts in sober lands

Languish till they thy clear pipe know!

“Ah, Pan—play on! Forgive the souls

Whom knowledge cheats of love; forgive

That life exacts its bitter tolls

And leads to artificial goals.

Oh! Play! that we may surelier live!”

I bent, I touched the shaggy hoof,

The horns; I looked into the eyes

Clear as rock pools, and yet aloof

Like wild bird’s, then I saw the proof

That Pan is kind beyond surmise.

Tears! In Pan’s eyes!—I sprang away

(Not even Pan should see me weep)—

Yet on through Tempé, all that day

I heard wild, happy piping.—Yea,

I wakened Pan!—He’s not asleep!