Pan and the Maiden
The Lover
And mine of bitter agony and death.
The Maiden
Ah! turn your heart to Pan, and seek him too.
The Lover
I have drunk deep the bitter wine of Life,
And in my breast are wells of human tears,
Such as Pan tastes not, and my eyes have scanned
Words more profound than you can comprehend—
Words not of you nor of the thoughtless gods—
And I shall perish by a subtler death,
A subtler wound than you can ever know.
And in my breast are wells of human tears,
Such as Pan tastes not, and my eyes have scanned
Words more profound than you can comprehend—
Words not of you nor of the thoughtless gods—
And I shall perish by a subtler death,
A subtler wound than you can ever know.
The Maiden
I love you—oh, I love you, and my heart
Has known, it too, pale images of death—
And deeper thoughts, and holier hopes than those
Has known, it too, pale images of death—
And deeper thoughts, and holier hopes than those
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