Poetry Archives

Pan, blow your pipes and I will be
Your fern, your pool, your dream, your tree!

I heard you play, caught your swift eye,
“A pretty melody!” called I,
“Hail, Pan!”  And sought to pass you by.

Now blow your pipes and I will sing
To your sure lips’ accompanying!

Wild God, who lifted me from earth,
Who taught me freedom, wisdom, mirth,
Immortalized my body’s worth,—

Blow, blow your pipes!  And from afar
I’ll come—I’ll be your bird, your star,
Your wood, your nymph, your kiss, your rhyme,
And all your godlike summer-time!