Stay! 'twas a voice that you heard,
A voice that you love, in the wood,
The vibrating note of a half spoken word--
For the great Pan is slain,
Of his pipings we know not one magical strain,
They have fled down the years of a world that was young
Oh, ages and ages ago!

Nay, 'twas the pipes of Pan!
Somewhere--just beyond--
Far as a star, yet piercing sweet,
A passionate, poignant, rhythmic beat--
Till my mad blood raced with my racing feet
To follow the piper--Pan!




Wanderlust


THE highways and the byways, the kind sky folding all,
And never a care to drag me back and never a voice to call;
Only the call of the long, white road to the far horizon's wall.

The glad seas and the mad seas, the seas on a night in June,
And never a hand to beckon back from the path of the new-lit moon;
Never a night that lasts too long or a dawn that breaks too soon!

The shrill breeze and the hill breeze, the sea breeze, fierce and bold,