Poems (Sackville)/Pan and the Maiden
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POEMS
PAN AND THE MAIDEN
Scene I.—A deep wood in Spring
The Maiden
Pan, I have sought thee leaving the hot world,
And all the skein of tangled nights and days—
The mirth, the tears, the impotence of man,
Because I am very weary, and my heart
Waastes for thee, longing sadly for cool glades
And pleasant speech of leaves and quiet air.
(She pauses.)
I am tired, I am tired, oh, Pan! the gods have sown
New growths of men and days—new harvestings,
And the new fields are scattered with strange seed,
And there are sterile songs and wasted breath,
And Beauty is a thing divorced from Life.
(She sinks on the moss.)
Hast thou forgotten, Pan, the days that were—
The quickening of woods, the tumult and fresh joy
Of budding fields, the wild expectant hands
Of living new-born things which yearned to thee,
The melodies frail reeds gave forth—desire
Of Love, mad ecstasy of song—faun-feet
Which danced tumultuous over bounding moss?
Hast thou forgotten? Art thou sleeping, Pan?
And are thy glades deserted, and no more
Shall the delicious joy and surging mirth
Of laughing woodland women sound again?
Has it become a dream, a dream to thee—
And are thy lips hushed and the ancient hopes,
And all the happy moments of the world?
And all the skein of tangled nights and days—
The mirth, the tears, the impotence of man,
Because I am very weary, and my heart
Waastes for thee, longing sadly for cool glades
And pleasant speech of leaves and quiet air.
(She pauses.)
I am tired, I am tired, oh, Pan! the gods have sown
New growths of men and days—new harvestings,
And the new fields are scattered with strange seed,
And there are sterile songs and wasted breath,
And Beauty is a thing divorced from Life.
(She sinks on the moss.)
Hast thou forgotten, Pan, the days that were—
The quickening of woods, the tumult and fresh joy
Of budding fields, the wild expectant hands
Of living new-born things which yearned to thee,
The melodies frail reeds gave forth—desire
Of Love, mad ecstasy of song—faun-feet
Which danced tumultuous over bounding moss?
Hast thou forgotten? Art thou sleeping, Pan?
And are thy glades deserted, and no more
Shall the delicious joy and surging mirth
Of laughing woodland women sound again?
Has it become a dream, a dream to thee—
And are thy lips hushed and the ancient hopes,
And all the happy moments of the world?
Pan (in the distance)
The old days call me with familiar lips.
The Maiden
I who am one with thee and bound with ties
Inextricable of life to all the woods—
My heart the heart of saplings and my blood
Full of the warm desire of Spring for earth,
Now call upon thee, Pan, and all live things
Call on thee with dumb lips and pleading eyes,
Speechless and longing for thee. Slumber not
Lest the world die—lest the world die, oh, Pan!
Inextricable of life to all the woods—
My heart the heart of saplings and my blood
Full of the warm desire of Spring for earth,
Now call upon thee, Pan, and all live things
Call on thee with dumb lips and pleading eyes,
Speechless and longing for thee. Slumber not
Lest the world die—lest the world die, oh, Pan!
Pan
One calls me from the unforgotten years.
The Maiden
Oh, Pan! the years are very sorrowful—
There is no splendour now amongst the gods.
There is no beauty of words, nor any more
Does song pour forth from ripe Olympian lips—
And like a dream forgotten are the gods;
And like a ruined dream their temples are,
And sadder than the eyes of Hecate
The Gorgon eyes of sorrow freeze the world,
Crushing the soul of man and all good days.
There is no splendour now amongst the gods.
There is no beauty of words, nor any more
Does song pour forth from ripe Olympian lips—
And like a dream forgotten are the gods;
And like a ruined dream their temples are,
And sadder than the eyes of Hecate
The Gorgon eyes of sorrow freeze the world,
Crushing the soul of man and all good days.
Pan
I come. I come—one calls me—I must hear—
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.
Pan
The ancient years are living, and the songs—
The Maiden
And now thy splendour fills me and the great
And sacred glory of thy words—the air
Conceals thy breath—thy thoughts enclose the world.
This leaf I touch is a wise thought of thine;
And all the grass a-tremble 'neath my foot,
And all the eloquent soft speech of leaves
Is thine, and most inseparable from thee.
And sacred glory of thy words—the air
Conceals thy breath—thy thoughts enclose the world.
This leaf I touch is a wise thought of thine;
And all the grass a-tremble 'neath my foot,
And all the eloquent soft speech of leaves
Is thine, and most inseparable from thee.
Pan
Oh, Woman! from the gulf of banished Time
You called, and my sleep left me—and I came.
You called, and my sleep left me—and I came.
The Maiden
I am afraid, oh, Pan! have mercy on me!
Pan
Who fears the gods when they command not fear?
The Maiden
Ah, Pan! the woods are slipping, slipping from me!
Pan
Pan
Dost thou fear love and speech of ancient days?
The Maiden
The fear of thee is heavy on me, Pan!
Pan
Fear not, the old times live and the old speech.
The Maiden>
The new days blind me, burn me, fetter me!
Pan
Cast all their glamour from thee—I am here.
The Maiden
This is the travail of death which brings forth Life,
Pan
Pan dies not, nor the memory of Pan—
The great gods sleep—they shall not always sleep—
Nor shall the world lose Beauty till it die.
The great gods sleep—they shall not always sleep—
Nor shall the world lose Beauty till it die.
The Maiden
Oh, Pan! thy words are fruitful memories
And madden me with thoughts of ardent days
And Greek nights, insatiate when the astonished woods
Woke 'neath the maddened overwhelming cry
Of satyrs, and the air reeled, and the shout
Of Bacchanalian laughter twined itself
With silences of night, and the uncurled
Wild vines burst forth in leaf and made a green
And reckless arbour over the warm land,
And there was sound of flutes and pleasant pipes.
And madden me with thoughts of ardent days
And Greek nights, insatiate when the astonished woods
Woke 'neath the maddened overwhelming cry
Of satyrs, and the air reeled, and the shout
Of Bacchanalian laughter twined itself
With silences of night, and the uncurled
Wild vines burst forth in leaf and made a green
And reckless arbour over the warm land,
And there was sound of flutes and pleasant pipes.
Pan
Exchange these memories for a newer bliss!
The Maiden
Oh, Pan! the gods rejoiced and laughed, and cried
'Behold the strength of Pan'—thy kisses live
Still, still upon my lips constraining me—
And they have quivered on my lips these years
Through all the changes which have veiled my soul—
Through all the manifold great waves of Time—
And bid me cleave to thee, a creature wrought
Of woods and wilds and pastures and sweet shades.
'Behold the strength of Pan'—thy kisses live
Still, still upon my lips constraining me—
And they have quivered on my lips these years
Through all the changes which have veiled my soul—
Through all the manifold great waves of Time—
And bid me cleave to thee, a creature wrought
Of woods and wilds and pastures and sweet shades.
Pan
And thou shalt come, oh, well-beloved of Pan!
Seeing Pan's kiss is stronger than strong years,
And still the forest is green and still the roots
Bear grain and blossom, and the woods shall cleave
Even to thy heart and thou shalt wander forth,
An evident woodland spirit, and thy life
Become a portion of the life of Pan.
Seeing Pan's kiss is stronger than strong years,
And still the forest is green and still the roots
Bear grain and blossom, and the woods shall cleave
Even to thy heart and thou shalt wander forth,
An evident woodland spirit, and thy life
Become a portion of the life of Pan.
The Maiden
Oh, Pan! there is great tumult at my heart—
Madness of life and all my words seem fraught
With wind and eloquent passion of green leaves.
But oh! the years which lie betwixt us now
Weigh mournfully upon me, and the thought
Of new things veils the ancient—Pan, forgive,
The unimagined shades of life are on me,
And even now there cleaves a Love to me—
No boy of Aphrodite, but a thing
Terrible, grave, with deep, imploring eyes,
Which calls me to it for a last farewell.
Madness of life and all my words seem fraught
With wind and eloquent passion of green leaves.
But oh! the years which lie betwixt us now
Weigh mournfully upon me, and the thought
Of new things veils the ancient—Pan, forgive,
The unimagined shades of life are on me,
And even now there cleaves a Love to me—
No boy of Aphrodite, but a thing
Terrible, grave, with deep, imploring eyes,
Which calls me to it for a last farewell.
Pan
Even Aphrodite slumbers, and her Loves.
The Maiden
And I must seek it, Pan, and bid farewell,
Else it would haunt me and its eyes become
Fires, nor could any coolness of the woods
Nor fragrance quench the intolerable light.
But if I seek it, showing how my heart
Is only thine, and how the woods lay hold
And draw me to them, then, oh, Pan, its strength
May wither and its ardent breath grow nought
But sleep among all sleeping human things.
Else it would haunt me and its eyes become
Fires, nor could any coolness of the woods
Nor fragrance quench the intolerable light.
But if I seek it, showing how my heart
Is only thine, and how the woods lay hold
And draw me to them, then, oh, Pan, its strength
May wither and its ardent breath grow nought
But sleep among all sleeping human things.
Pan
Go not, lest the sad music of the world
Compel your spirit utterly from me.
Compel your spirit utterly from me.
The Maiden
No music, Pan, in all the world is strong
To dim thy music in me. I whose life
First shaped itself upon thy lips—a note
Conceived of music growing visible
From very excess of rapture. (Great art thou
To bind thy singing round all gods and men.
Hast thou forgotten how the god of song,
The marvellous Apollo, lay all day,
Motionless, dazed with visions, whilst thy notes
Led him through groves and labyrinths of sweet sound
Till all his wise and beautiful heart was lost
And tangled in the melody?—how then
Shall I prove stronger than he and feel thy song
No more but cleave unto strange words and works
And alien, infidel hearts, and lose all love,
All knowledge of thee, Pan? Such things are not.
To dim thy music in me. I whose life
First shaped itself upon thy lips—a note
Conceived of music growing visible
From very excess of rapture. (Great art thou
To bind thy singing round all gods and men.
Hast thou forgotten how the god of song,
The marvellous Apollo, lay all day,
Motionless, dazed with visions, whilst thy notes
Led him through groves and labyrinths of sweet sound
Till all his wise and beautiful heart was lost
And tangled in the melody?—how then
Shall I prove stronger than he and feel thy song
No more but cleave unto strange words and works
And alien, infidel hearts, and lose all love,
All knowledge of thee, Pan? Such things are not.
Pan
Go, since the spirit of the world is weak,
Cold are the joys, the sorrows of the world,
And I am Pan! and stronger than all gods.
Cold are the joys, the sorrows of the world,
And I am Pan! and stronger than all gods.
Scene II.—A terrace overlooking woods and hills
The Lover
Even as God's thought first formed and wrought the world
With colour and sun and seas and hills and woods,
So has my soul conceived and brought forth Love
And formed a world of Love where all fair things
Are born, and plaintive music and low words.
With colour and sun and seas and hills and woods,
So has my soul conceived and brought forth Love
And formed a world of Love where all fair things
Are born, and plaintive music and low words.
The Maiden
The clouds are stiller than the hills to-night.
The Lover
They are filled with exquisite peace and no desire.
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.
The Lover
What cry is this—what lives are these, what mirth?
The Maiden
The cry of the unchangeable gods who send
A message to the world through thoughtless lips—
The lives illimitable of strange hosts,
Dim denizens of undiscovered glades,
Impenetrable seas and drowsy hills—
Of these the mirth I hear—of these the joy!
A message to the world through thoughtless lips—
The lives illimitable of strange hosts,
Dim denizens of undiscovered glades,
Impenetrable seas and drowsy hills—
Of these the mirth I hear—of these the joy!
The Lover
The old gods pass—and the old ways of men—
Theirs was the earth, and lust of Beauty and Life,
Theirs was the earth a little while, and soft
Sweet perfumes and cool temples and wild loves—
A little time of laughter and warm breath,
A little space of pleasure and strained lips,
And afterwards the world put on new thoughts,
And the gods passed away like fallen foam,
And one great sacred spirit held the world.
Theirs was the earth, and lust of Beauty and Life,
Theirs was the earth a little while, and soft
Sweet perfumes and cool temples and wild loves—
A little time of laughter and warm breath,
A little space of pleasure and strained lips,
And afterwards the world put on new thoughts,
And the gods passed away like fallen foam,
And one great sacred spirit held the world.
The Maiden
No, no! they are potent still—they are potent still—
Nor any alien island in far seas
Holds them—but in their ancient Halls of Mirth
They slumber, and their dreams are quickening fires
Which hold the world from barrenness and death.
Nor any alien island in far seas
Holds them—but in their ancient Halls of Mirth
They slumber, and their dreams are quickening fires
Which hold the world from barrenness and death.
The Lover
Why are your eyes wild with a pagan light—
A strange and passionate language on your lips?
A strange and passionate language on your lips?
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.
Then through the years I wandered, died and lived
And died and lived again, full of new thoughts,
New loves and new desires, but evermore
Pan's seal was set upon me. Hold me not,
For I have seen him and his lips revive
The old earth-madness in me, and my eyes
Have gazed on him again and mine has grown
The soul of woods once more, and never strength
Of atheist hearts shall break or mar the bond.
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.
Then through the years I wandered, died and lived
And died and lived again, full of new thoughts,
New loves and new desires, but evermore
Pan's seal was set upon me. Hold me not,
For I have seen him and his lips revive
The old earth-madness in me, and my eyes
Have gazed on him again and mine has grown
The soul of woods once more, and never strength
Of atheist hearts shall break or mar the bond.
The Lover
You speak a thing disastrous—fraught with ill.
The Maiden
The old and passionate gods were dear to me—
My spirit is the spirit of a faun—
The wild vines and the ivy cling to me,
And the long tendrils wind around my heart
So that no other thought may sojourn there.
My spirit is the spirit of a faun—
The wild vines and the ivy cling to me,
And the long tendrils wind around my heart
So that no other thought may sojourn there.
The Lover
The gods are perished—utterly undone.
The Maiden
They live, but now they slumber and the world
Slumbers, but soon the petals of Time's flower
Shall blossom forth with colour and soft scent,
And like a rose shall overspread all lands.
Slumbers, but soon the petals of Time's flower
Shall blossom forth with colour and soft scent,
And like a rose shall overspread all lands.
The Lover
You have brought fire and anguish through the years,
Malicious flames to sear and torture me.
Malicious flames to sear and torture me.
The Maiden
Be glad, because I bid farewell to you,
And I shall be most joyous if your love
Unwinds its coils of passion from my life,
Not fettering it, and I would have it sleep
Forgetting me with reasonable heart.
And I shall be most joyous if your love
Unwinds its coils of passion from my life,
Not fettering it, and I would have it sleep
Forgetting me with reasonable heart.
The Lover
This is an evil and a foolish thing—
Pan is not strong—Pan is not strong as Love.
Pan is not strong—Pan is not strong as Love.
The Maiden
Pan can break Love and fetter Love with bonds.
The Lover
The ancient yearning is alive in you,
But I am strong with the new growth of days.
But I am strong with the new growth of days.
The Maiden
Alas! the growth is sad of the new day!
Yet think not I am heedless of your love—
Leaving it lightly as a thing outworn.
I should have withered in my loneliness
Had you not come with life and pitying love,
Had you not brought new love, new life to me.
Yet think not I am heedless of your love—
Leaving it lightly as a thing outworn.
I should have withered in my loneliness
Had you not come with life and pitying love,
Had you not brought new love, new life to me.
The Lover
I gave you all I had and all my soul.
The Maiden
Ah! sweet, ah! sweet the day I saw you first.
The Lover
Then was I conscious first of Life, and lived.
The Maiden
I knew Life first when first you touched my hand.
The Lover
I dared not think of you except in dreams—
The Maiden
I writhed to feel that you could never love me.
The Lover
My love walked timidly with doubtful steps.
The Maiden
And mine wept silent tears because Love came not.
The Lover
You seemed too sacred for the speech of man—
The whole world's mystic heart was in your eyes.
The Maiden
You read the whole world's lonely sadness there.
The Lover
What followed on that sadness when we kissed?
The Maiden
The transformation of all worlds and stars.
The Lover
Ah! God, the peril, the peril, the madness of it—
Now it must pass, now it must pass—ah, God!
Now it must pass, now it must pass—ah, God!
The Maiden
Would you could read my heart and understand!
The Lover
Oh! my beloved—is it nought to you
The first imperfect sighs, which breathed of Love,
Timidly, daring but to live—no more—
The clasping of hot hands which burned to meet,
The mingling of tired lips which sobbed to kiss—
The life that makes its own eternity—
What is the god's wild rapture to this thing?
The first imperfect sighs, which breathed of Love,
Timidly, daring but to live—no more—
The clasping of hot hands which burned to meet,
The mingling of tired lips which sobbed to kiss—
The life that makes its own eternity—
What is the god's wild rapture to this thing?
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,
Raise Pan a temple and a dwelling-place
Wrought of cold marble twined about with flowers,
Wild woodland plants, vines, sinuous ivy stems,
And on his altars sacrificial grain
Shall burn, and incense scent the heavy air—
That he seeing we forget him not may grant
Forgiveness and accomplishment of joy.
And seek those countries of the god's first birth,
Where the tired sky yearns downwards to green trees,
Raise Pan a temple and a dwelling-place
Wrought of cold marble twined about with flowers,
Wild woodland plants, vines, sinuous ivy stems,
And on his altars sacrificial grain
Shall burn, and incense scent the heavy air—
That he seeing we forget him not may grant
Forgiveness and accomplishment of joy.
The Maiden
Pan needs no temple fairer than the world—
The whole world is his temple and the trees
His wreathed columns, and the fields are his,
Glowing with living offerings and prayers,
The scent of earth his incense—but he craves
All tremulous woodland hearts to blend with him,
And mine is full of woodland ecstasy.
The whole world is his temple and the trees
His wreathed columns, and the fields are his,
Glowing with living offerings and prayers,
The scent of earth his incense—but he craves
All tremulous woodland hearts to blend with him,
And mine is full of woodland ecstasy.
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
Which filled it when the dancing fauns of Pan
Roused Bacchanalian laughter in the woods.
Has known, it too, pale images of death—
And deeper thoughts, and holier hopes than those
Which filled it when the dancing fauns of Pan
Roused Bacchanalian laughter in the woods.
The Lover
Beloved, we are thirsting each for each,
But you are dazed with evil, and strange dreams;
Yet seek strong shelter in my soul, for you
Will surely crave amongst these alien lives
Familiar sanctuary—you will grieve
For known accustomed days, the human lips,
The comforting speech of tears, the dear desires,
Close days of mortal rapture. They are hard,
These gods—they are warm with superficial warmth,
And since they reigned the world has tasted pain,
But you are dazed with evil, and strange dreams;
Yet seek strong shelter in my soul, for you
Will surely crave amongst these alien lives
Familiar sanctuary—you will grieve
For known accustomed days, the human lips,
The comforting speech of tears, the dear desires,
Close days of mortal rapture. They are hard,
These gods—they are warm with superficial warmth,
And since they reigned the world has tasted pain,
The Maiden
Oh! I shall sorrow for you, sorrow for you—
Almost I wish I had not bowed to Pan—
And yet—and yet—
Almost I wish I had not bowed to Pan—
And yet—and yet—
The Lover
Look on the woods no more—
See the great moon has risen, and her light
Forgets the evil of men, and all their wrong
And folly 'sinks to some forgotten dream,
Some empty, fevered vision of waste hours,
And all this thing is but a perished dream
You have dreamt, sweet, and this alone is true—
My arms about you and my soul; your soul,
And Love, and a great gladness born of Love.
See the great moon has risen, and her light
Forgets the evil of men, and all their wrong
And folly 'sinks to some forgotten dream,
Some empty, fevered vision of waste hours,
And all this thing is but a perished dream
You have dreamt, sweet, and this alone is true—
My arms about you and my soul; your soul,
And Love, and a great gladness born of Love.
The Maiden
Hold me close—close—I dare not raise my eyes.
The lover
You are mine—you are mine—fear not, the gods were strong
But love has overwrought the ancient gods
And seared their cruelty with a present flame.
But love has overwrought the ancient gods
And seared their cruelty with a present flame.
The Maiden
Take me away, I dare not linger here—
(Echoes and sounds of voices rise from the woods.)
Ah! what is that—ah! what 1s that?! The sound—
The old familiar sound of woodland mirth!
(Echoes and sounds of voices rise from the woods.)
Ah! what is that—ah! what 1s that?! The sound—
The old familiar sound of woodland mirth!
The Lover
It is the tumult of the evening wind.
The Maiden
Their feet are dancing, are dancing, and the sward
Pulses beneath innumerable feet—
See, see the wild gleam of the Mænad's hair!
Pan lives—Pan lives—Pan lives—Pan lives to- night!
The fauns awake, the satyrs dance to-night—
Oh, tingling blood which stings and whirls me on,
And hurls me to them—loose me—let me go.
Pulses beneath innumerable feet—
See, see the wild gleam of the Mænad's hair!
Pan lives—Pan lives—Pan lives—Pan lives to- night!
The fauns awake, the satyrs dance to-night—
Oh, tingling blood which stings and whirls me on,
And hurls me to them—loose me—let me go.
The Lover
Never! I hold you fast—you shall not leave me!
The Maiden
This one night, only this night, I will return—
Oh, my beloved! I will come again,
But now my limbs are mad to wind themselves
With branches of the vine—the kiss of Pan
Burns on my lips, it burns my soul away—
Oh—oh, look not upon me, for your eyes
Are terrible—mournful, and your mouth 1is sad,
And tortures me—Pan calls—Pan calls. I dare not
Stay any longer with your lips and eyes.
Oh, my beloved! I will come again,
But now my limbs are mad to wind themselves
With branches of the vine—the kiss of Pan
Burns on my lips, it burns my soul away—
Oh—oh, look not upon me, for your eyes
Are terrible—mournful, and your mouth 1is sad,
And tortures me—Pan calls—Pan calls. I dare not
Stay any longer with your lips and eyes.
The Lover
Though I shall die, you shall not leave me now!
(She breaks away from him.)
(She breaks away from him.)
The Maiden
Farewell—farewell, your love has fallen from me,
And there is nothing left for me save mirth
And tumult of woods and pastures and wild lives.
(She darts off.)
And there is nothing left for me save mirth
And tumult of woods and pastures and wild lives.
(She darts off.)
The Lover
You shall not leave me, though I die, you shall not—
(He follows her.)
(He follows her.)
A Voice in the Distance
I come, oh, Pan! I come—