"It's a most beautiful poem," he said; "and it's hardly ever quoted
or read, that I can find. It tells how the great god Pan came down
by the river-bank, and cut one of the reeds to make himself a pipe.
He sat there and played his music upon it--

'Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan!
Piercing sweet by the river!
Blinding sweet, O great god Pan!
The sun on the hill forgot to die,
And the lilies reviv'd, and the dragon-fly
Came back to dream on the river.

'Yet half a beast is the great god Pan,
To laugh as he sits by the river,
Making a poet out of a man.
The true gods sigh for the cost and pain,--
For the reed which grows nevermore again
As a reed with the reeds in the river.'"

Thyrsis paused. "Do you see what it means?" he asked.

"Yes," said Corydon, "I see."

"'Making a poet out of a man!' That is one of the finest lines I
know. And that's the way I feel about it--I have given up all other
duties in the world. If I can write one book, or even one poem, that
will be an inspiration to men in the future--why, then I have done
far more than I could do by a lifetime given to helping people
around me."