On the quiet woodland sod?
Do ye mark what mood that strain is?
Hints it not the Shepherd God
With his pipings shrill and sweet—
Snubnose, Sweetwine, old Silenus,
All his creatures shy and fleet?”
Deeper, deeper, Fire and Dew
Drains he of the Wine-God’s brew
Craving furthest essence—thus
Heareth now another voice