FROM the forests and highlands
We come we come；
From the river-girt islands
Where loud waves are dumb
Listening to my sweet pipings.
The wind in the reeds and the rushes
The bees on the bells of thyme
The birds on the myrtle bushes
The cicale above in the lime
And the lizards below in the grass
Were as silent as ever old Tmolus was
Listening to my sweet pipings.
Liquid Peneus was flowing
And all dark Tempe lay
In Pelion's shadow outgrowing
The light of the dying day
Speeded by my sweet pipings.
The Sileni and Sylvans and Fauns
And the Nymphs of the woods and 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 with love as you now Apollo
With envy of my sweet pipings.
I sang of the dancing stars
I sang of the d？dal earth
And of heaven and the giant wars
And love and death and birth.
And then I changed my pipings—
Singing how down the vale of M？nalus
I pursued a maiden and clasp'd a reed：
Gods and men we are all deluded thus！
It breaks in our bosom and then we bleed.
All wept—as I think both ye now would
If envy or age had not frozen your blood—
At the sorrow of my sweet pipings.
