Uplong in the owl-light
Theer come my maid wi' me.
A LITANY TO PAN
By the abortions of the teeming Spring,
By Summer's starved and withered offering,
By Autumn's stricken hope and Winter's sting,
Oh, hear!
By the ichneumon on the writhing worm,
By the swift, far-flung poison of the germ,