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SONG OF PAN: By Percy Shelley

From the forests and higlands
We Come,we come,
From the river-girt islands
Where Loud waves were dumb
Listening my sweet pipings
The wind in the reeds and the rushes,
the bees on the bells of thyme,
the birds in the myrtle bushes,
the cicadae above in the lime,
and the lizards below in the grass,
were as silent as even old Tmolus was,
Listening my sweet  pipings.

Liquid Peneus was flowing-
And all dark Temepe Lay
In Olympus' shadow,outgrowing The light of the dying day,
Speeded with my sweet pipings,
The sileni and sylvans and fauns
And the nymphs of the woods and the waves,
To the edge of the moist river-lawns
ANd the brink of the dewy caves,
And all that did then attend and follow
Were silent for love,as you now,Apollo,
For envy of my sweet pipings.
I sang of the dancing stars,
I sang of the deadal Earth,
and of Heaven,and the giant wars,
And Love and Death and Birth;
And then I changed my pipings,
Singing how,down the vales of Menaleus
I pursued a maiden and claped a reed.
Gods and men,we are all deluded thus!-
It breaks in our bosom and then we bleed;
They wept as ,I think,both ye now would,
If envy or age had not frozen your blood,
At the sorrow of my sweet pipings.

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