HYMN TO PAN 
 
Thrill with lissome lust of the light, 
O man ! My man ! 
Come careering out of the night 
Of Pan !  Io Pan . 
Io Pan !  Io Pan !  Come over the sea 
From Sicily and from Arcady ! 
Roaming as Bacchus, with fauns and pards 
And nymphs and styrs for thy guards, 
On a milk-white ass, come over the sea 
To me, to me, 
Come with Apollo in bridal dress 
(Spheperdess and pythoness) 
Come with Artemis, silken shod, 
And wash thy white thigh, beautiful God, 
In the moon, of the woods, on the marble mount, 
The dimpled dawn of the amber fount ! 
Dip the purple of passionate prayer 
In the crimson shrine, the scarlet snare, 
The soul that startles in eyes of blue 
To watch thy wantoness weeping through 
The tangled grove, the gnarled bole 
Of the living tree that is spirit and soul 
And body and brain -come over the sea, 
(Io Pan !  Io Pan !) 
Devil or god, to me, to me, 
My man ! my man ! 
Come with trumpets sounding shrill 
Over the hill ! 
Come with drums low muttering 
From the spring ! 
Come with flute and come with pipe ! 
Am I not ripe ? 
I, who wait and writhe and wrestle 
With air that hath no boughs to nestle 
My body, weary of empty clasp, 
Strong as a lion, and sharp as an asp- 
Come, O come ! 
I am numb 
With the lonely lust of devildom. 
Thrust the sword through the galling fetter, 
All devourer, all begetter ;