To watch thy wantonness weeping through 
The tangled grove, the gnarléd bole 
Of the living tree that is spirit and soûl 
And body and brain — corne over the sea, 
(loPan! IoPan!) 
Devil or god, to me, to me, 
My man ! my man ! 
Corne with trumpets sounding sbrill 
Over the hill ! 
Corne with drums low muttering 
From the spring! 
Corne with flûte and corne 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 — 
Corne, O corne! 
I am numb 
With the lonely lust of devildom. 
Thrust the sword through the galling fetter, 
All-devourer, all-begetter; 
Give me the sign of the Open Eye, 
And the token erect of thorny thigh, 
And the word of madness and mystery, 
O Pan! IoPan! 
lo Pan! Io Pan Pan! Pan Pan! Pan, 
I am a man: 
Do as thou wilt, as a great god can, 
O Pan! IoPan! 
Io Pan ! Io Pan Pan ! I am awake 
In the grip of the snake. 
The eagle slashes with beak and claw; 
The gods withdraw: 
The great beasts corne, Io Pan! I am borne 
To death on the horn 
Of the Unicom. 
I am Pan ! Io Pan ! Io Pan Pan ! Pan ! 
VIII —