THE RITE OF LUNA
Satyrs and Fauns, 1 call.
Bring your beauty to man !
Ι am the mate for ye all;
I am the passionate Pan.
Come, O come to the dance,
Leaping with wonderful whips,
Life on the stroke of a glance,
Death in the stroke of the lips
!
I am hidden beyond,
Shed in a secret sinew,
Smitten through by the fond
Folly of wisdom in you!
Come, while the moon (the moon 1)
Sheds her ambrosia! splendour,
Reels in the redeless rune
InetTably, utterly, tender!
Hark! the appealing cry
Ofdeadly hurt in the hollow :—
Hyacinth! Hyacinth! Ay!
Smitten to death by Apollo
Swift, O maiden moon,
Send thy ray-dews after;
Turn the dolorous tune
Το soft ambiguous laughter!
Mourn, Ο Maenads, mourn!
Surely your comfort is over:
All we laugh at you lorn.
Ours are the poppies and clover!
Ο that mouth and eyes,
Mischievous, male, alluring!
O that twitch of the thighs,
Dorian past enduring!
Where is wisdom now?
Where the sage and his doubt?
Surely the sweat of the brow
Hath driven the demon out.
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