All quivering
With life and love, could only sing.

My head was lent
Where, with it, blent
A maiden's o'er her instrument;
While all the night,
From vale to height,
Was filled with echoes of delight.

And all our dreams
Were lit with gleams
Of that lost land of reedy streams.
Along whose brim
Forever swim
Pan's lilies, laughing up at him.

[Illustration]


IV

But yesterday!...
O blooms of May,
And summer roses--where-away?
O stars above;
And lips of love,
And all the honeyed sweets thereof!--

O lad and lass,