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SORCERY
"WHAT voice is that I hear
Crying across the pool?"
" It is the voice of Pan you hear,
Crying his sorceries shrill and clear,
In the twilight dim and cool."
"What song is it he sings,
Echoing from afar;
While the sweet swallow bends her wings.
Filling the air with twitterings,
Beneath the brightening star?"
The woodman answered me,
His faggot on his back:—
"Seek not the face of Pan to see;
Flee from his clear note summoning thee
To darkness deep and black!"
"He dwells in thickest shade.
Piping his notes forlorn
Of sorrow never to be allayed;
Turn from his coverts sad
Of twilight unto morn!"
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