And now, and now... I feel the forest-moss!
O, on these moss-beds let me lie with Pan,
Twined with the ivy-vine in tendrilled curls!
And I will hold all gold that hampers man
But the base ashes of a barren dross!
On with the love-dance of the pagan girls!
The pagan girls with lips all rosy-red,
With breasts up-girt and foreheads garlanded!
With fair white foreheads nobly garlanded!
With sandalled feet that weave the magic ring
Now ... let them sing,
And I will pipe a song that all may hear,
To bid them mind the time of my wild rhyme!
Away! Away! Beware our mystic trees!
Who will not quest you, O Hesperides?...