Little fifers of live bronze,
Who hath taught you with wise lore
To unloose the strains of joy,
When Orion seeks the west? 20
And you feathered flute-players,
Who instructed you to fill
All the blossomy orchards now
With melodious desire?
I doubt not our father Pan 25
Hath a care of all these things.
In some valley of the hills
Far away and misty-blue,
By quick water he hath cut
A new pipe, and set the wood 30
To his smiling lips, and blown,
That earth’s rapture be restored.
And those wild Pandean stops
Mark the cadence life must keep.
O my lover, be thou glad; 35
It is spring in Hellas now.
XCVII
When the early soft spring wind comes blowing
Over Rhodes and Samos and Miletus,
From the seven mouths of Nile to Lesbos,
Freighted with sea-odours and gold sunshine,
What news spreads among the island people 5
In the market-place of Mitylene,
Lending that unwonted stir of gladness
To the busy streets and thronging doorways?
Is it word from Ninus or Arbela,
Babylon the great, or Northern Imbros? 10
Have the laden galleons been sighted
Stoutly labouring up the sea from Tyre?
Nay, ’tis older news that foreign sailor
With the cheek of sea-tan stops to prattle
To the young fig-seller with her basket 15
And the breasts that bud beneath her tunic,