Poems
The Maiden
I am of them—I am of them—and now
I must depart, and I must wander forth
Through other fairer paths and holier woods.
I am not of this world, nor have my feet
Been glad in fruitful pastures—nor has Life
Seemed gracious unto me since Grecian days,
When Beauty lived and the old gods were strong.
I must depart, and I must wander forth
Through other fairer paths and holier woods.
I am not of this world, nor have my feet
Been glad in fruitful pastures—nor has Life
Seemed gracious unto me since Grecian days,
When Beauty lived and the old gods were strong.
The Lover
Oh! my beloved, you are strange to-night.
The Maiden
I sprang from them—my life is a mere note
Born of the windy music of Pan's reeds—
With happy feet I clove the forest shades,
Lived, loved, breathed, laughed and slept beneath green boughs.
Born of the windy music of Pan's reeds—
With happy feet I clove the forest shades,
Lived, loved, breathed, laughed and slept beneath green boughs.
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