And then he took his pipe, this goat-legged man,
And all the winds cried: “Hark, the song of Pan:
Pan who is god of flocks and herds, who dwells
Deep in the woods a-weaving curious spells
And tunes that sob for joy, that thrill and weep—
That charm to laughter and that soothe to sleep.”
III
And by and by Pan made a flute for me,
And when I took the flute I seemed to see
Visions of bodied-thoughts, gay-clothed or dark,