The Faun

When I was but a little boy     Who hunted in the wood     To scare or mangle or destroy     A freakish elemental joy     That tasted life and found it good     I hardly heard the awful ban     That mutters round the free,     But followed where the waters ran,     And wondered when the pipe of Pan     Shook silence with its minstrelsy.     Where sun-spray glittered on my limbs     I danced, and laughed, and trilled     My happy incoherent hymns,     Sped only by the whirling whims     With which my eager heart was filled.     The wind was glad and so was I;     My soul lay open wide,     Reflecting all the starry sky;     The swallows called to me to fly;     I dreamed of how the fishes glide.     But while my errant feet were set     On mosses cool and sweet,     The great grey phantoms brooding met     Within the shades, and cast a net     With dreary charms about my feet.     They pent me in a barren place,     A city, so they said,     Of gallant wonder-working grace     But haunted, haunted by a race     Of rigid unperceptive dead.     With sightless eyes they pored on books,     And scrawled on many a sheet     Their regimental strokes and hooks,     And stalked about with pompous looks,     Top-hatted, in the civil street.     I strove to flee, but everywhere     Met solid-seeming walls;     And yet I knew the world was fair,     And, hearkening well, heard, even there,     A bird and distant waterfalls.     And love which I had scarcely known     Leaped upward as I heard;     I blessed the creek, the mossy stone,     The fern along the gully strown,     The little beasts, the piping bird.     Could walls oermaster one who knew     The world of outer light?     The very shadow that they threw     Was tindured with a deeper blue     Because the quickening sun was bright.     I laughed aloud, as one who leaps     Against a curling wave,     And, as a widening ripple creeps,     A shudder caught the stony steeps,     And life shook, laughing, in the grave.     O phantoms, who are you to fix     Eternal towers of pride?     I mocked at their fantastic tricks,     I thrust my fingers through the bricks     And felt the flowers the other side.     I pricked my pointed ears to hear     The love-song of the bird,     And dear was every note, and dear     The myriad sounds that echoed near     The magically chorusd word.     I saw the fading phantoms glare;     Their tones to silence hissed.     The walls bulged, brightening everywhere,     And thinned and melted in the air     To ragged streams of rosy mist.     Trill, happy bird, for ever trill,     For I have learned to bless     The great grey shades whose thwarted will     Turned earth to heaven; and I am still     A dweller in the wilderness.