Let baser beasts inspire the obvious wheeze,
Wombats and wart-hogs, tortoises and tapirs;
These lack the subtle spell thy presence flings
About the spirit tuned to higher things.
Well could I picture thee, a dusky sprite,
With Dryad hoofs on Thracian ledges drumming,
When day is slipping from the arms of night
And all the hushed leaves whisper, "Pan is coming!"
And thou before him, leaping with delight,
Stirring all birds to song, all bees to humming