Golden now the glowing moon,
Diana over Endymion
Downward bends as in a swoon.
Wherefore, since the gods agree,
Youth is sweet and Night is free,
And Love pleasure, should not we?
The Faun is struck with Sorrow.
Song whose desire her kisses bless!
Song that wreaks wounds no lips redress,
O wounding song! Such loneliness
Falls, like a stun blow from behind,
That my hands grope, my eyes go blind.
I gasp....
Away, Away, O heart!
Lone, wretched Faun, depart, depart;
Hide thyself, wretched, utterly,
Climb to the clouds where none may see
And mock thy causeless misery!
What joy is mine? what is 't I have:
Immortal life? would 'twere a grave.
Thus, thus to suffer world-without-end,
No love, no hope, no goal, no friend!
And the proud, morning Centaur, how
Fares he? what lot doth Fate allow?—
More wretched yet! to live and be
Perfection's lone epitome.
He takes Comfort in the Uncommon Gift of God.
To feel in him a fecund power,
And lack on which to spend that dower!...
I mind me now that once I heard
Wise, gentle Pan pronounce this word:
"Whoever like a God would shine
Must share the loneliness divine."
Ah! to be Gods, then, is to be
One fierce eternal agony.
Yet, being Gods, such feel no pain;
Their strength is equal to their bane.
While I, poor half-god and half-beast,
I would be man, the last and least
Of men!
O reasoning vain:
Were I but man and one in pain,
I could not by my utmost wipe
One tear away. But now this pipe
Hangs from my neck, god Pan's elect
Gift to his children to perfect
In awe, joy, grief, and loneliness.
Sound, pipe, and with thy note express
All this my heart! to thee I give
All the long days that I must live.
I wander on, I fade in mist,
O peopled World, and dost thou list?
Pipe on, difficult pipes of mine;
There is something in me divine,
And it must out. For this was I
Born, and I know I cannot die
Until, perfected pipe, thou send
My utmost: God, which is