Pan and the Maiden
The Maiden
The woods seem living in the living night.
The Lover
They hold the gentle longing of the world.
The Maiden
I hear the distant lonely voice of waves—
The Lover
Infinite seas of Love surround the world.
The Maiden
And voices calling through the gloom—not sprung
From aught of human nor sorrowful, but glad
With all the unpunished ecstasy of dreams,
And strange delirious joy of woods and hills.
From aught of human nor sorrowful, but glad
With all the unpunished ecstasy of dreams,
And strange delirious joy of woods and hills.
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