The Faun, by Madison Cawein

  The joys that touched thee once, be mine!
    The sympathies of sky and sea,
  The friendships of each rock and pine,
    That made thy lonely life, ah me!
    In Tempe or in Gargaphie.

  Such joy as thou didst feel when first,
    On some wild crag, thou stood'st alone
  To watch the mountain tempest burst,
    With streaming thunder, lightning-sown,
    On Latmos or on Pelion.

  Thy awe! when, crowned with vastness, Night
    And Silence ruled the deep's abyss;
  And through dark leaves thou saw'st the white
    Breasts of the starry maids who kiss
    Pale feet of moony Artemis.

  Thy dreams! when, breasting matted weeds
    Of Arethusa, thou didst hear
  The music of the wind-swept reeds;
    And down dim forest-ways drew near
    Shy herds of slim Arcadian deer.

  Thy wisdom! that knew naught but love
    And beauty, with which love is fraught;
  The wisdom of the heart—whereof
    All noblest passions spring—that thought
    As Nature thinks, "All else is naught."

  Thy hope! wherein To-morrow set
    No shadow; hope, that, lacking care
  And retrospect, held no regret,
    But bloomed in rainbows everywhere,
    Filling with gladness all the air.

  These were thine all: in all life's moods
    Embracing all of happiness:
  And when within thy long-loved woods
    Didst lay thee down to die—no less
    Thy happiness stood by to bless.