Are tinkling pipings that whisper that Pan,
Away from the haunts of humdrum man,
Has led forth the day from the seas....
Dancing and prancing o’er grove and o’er hill,
Rollicking, frolicking, gay,
Glad in the fragrance, and glad in the dawn,
And proud to be leading the day.
The grey gnomes that live in the fog hear his pipes,
And they hide in their thick weeping veils,
And they dwindle and melt at the sound of his mirth,