Sorcery

"What voice is that I hear     Crying across the pool?" "It is the voice of Pan you hear, Crying his sorceries shrill and clear,     In the twilight dim and cool."     "What song is it he sings,     Echoing from afar; While the sweet swallow bends her wings, Filling the air with twitterings,     Beneath the brightening star?" The woodman answered me,     His faggot on his back: - "Seek not the face of Pan to see; Flee from his clear note summoning thee     To darkness deep and black!"     "He dwells in thickest shade,     Piping his notes forlorn Of sorrow never to be allayed; Turn from his coverts sad     Of twilight unto morn!" The woodman passed away     Along the forest path; His ax shone keen and grey In the last beams of day:     And all was still as death: - Only Pan singing sweet     Out of Earth's fragrant shade; I dreamed his eyes to meet, And found but shadow laid     Before my tired feet. Comes no more dawn to me,     Nor bird of open skies. Only his woods' deep gloom I see     Till, at the end of all, shall rise, Afar and tranquilly, Death's stretching sea.