THE Pipes of Pan! Not idler now are they Than when their cunning fashione first blew The pith of music from them: Yet for you And me their notes are blown in many a way Lost in our murmurings for that old day That fared so well without us. -- Waken to The pipings here at hand: -- The clear halloo Of truant voices, and the roundelay The waters warble in the solitude Of blooming thickets, where the robin's breast Sends up such ecstasy o'er dale and dell Each tree top answers, till in all the wood There lingers not one squirrel in his nest Whetting his hunger on an empty shell. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FORBIDDEN FRUIT: 2 by EMILY DICKINSON THE CANONIZATION by JOHN DONNE TO MUSIC [TO BECALM HIS FEVER] by ROBERT HERRICK DREAM-LOVE by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI IN A SPRING GROVE by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM SONNET: 17 by RICHARD BARNFIELD MY MOTHER by GEORGE WASHINGTON BETHUNE |