Pan and the Maiden
The Maiden
I love you—oh, I love you—blame me not!
The Lover
The gods have nothing left to give, the world
Faints even before my love, and we shall die,
Beloved, if you will, and cast our souls
Upon the eternal never-ending waves
Which beat around the awful feet of God.
Faints even before my love, and we shall die,
Beloved, if you will, and cast our souls
Upon the eternal never-ending waves
Which beat around the awful feet of God.
The Maiden
Oh! I am fearful of your words—they burn.
The Lover
Or we will leave the greyness of sad days
And seek those countries of the god's first birth,
Where the tired sky yearns downwards to green trees,
And seek those countries of the god's first birth,
Where the tired sky yearns downwards to green trees,
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