PAN AND THALASSIUS

A LYRICAL IDYL


THALASSIUS

Pan!


PAN

O sea-stray, seed of Apollo,
What word wouldst thou have with me?
My ways thou wast fain to follow
Or ever the years hailed thee
Man.

Now
If August brood on the valleys,
If satyrs laugh on the lawns,
What part in the wildwood alleys
Hast thou with the fleet-foot fauns--
Thou?

See!
Thy feet are a man's--not cloven
Like these, not light as a boy's:
The tresses and tendrils inwoven