Pan and the Maiden
The Maiden
Surely, oh, Pan! though all the great gods slept
Still thou wouldst hearken—nay, thou slumberest not,
Because the fields still quicken and the rain
Falls with a kindly freshness on the land,
And trees bear blossom, and the woods are full
Of manifold deep life and echoing sounds—
Fluting of wood-birds, buzz of drowsy flies,
Shy creatures crouching in the undergrowth,
Wild thickets bearing fruit and laden boughs—
Is not thy great existence evident
In all this Nature, since if thou wert dead—
If thou wert dead there would be no more life,
But barren deserts—overwhelming floods,
And forests crowned with no sweet growth of green,
But hollow winds and empty silences.
Still thou wouldst hearken—nay, thou slumberest not,
Because the fields still quicken and the rain
Falls with a kindly freshness on the land,
And trees bear blossom, and the woods are full
Of manifold deep life and echoing sounds—
Fluting of wood-birds, buzz of drowsy flies,
Shy creatures crouching in the undergrowth,
Wild thickets bearing fruit and laden boughs—
Is not thy great existence evident
In all this Nature, since if thou wert dead—
If thou wert dead there would be no more life,
But barren deserts—overwhelming floods,
And forests crowned with no sweet growth of green,
But hollow winds and empty silences.
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