Pan
This Pan is but an idle god, I guess, Since all the fair midsummer of my dreams He loiters listlessly by woody streams, Soaking the lush glooms up with laziness; Or drowsing while the maiden-winds caress Him prankishly, and powder him with gleams Of sifted sunshine. And he ever seems Drugged with a joy unutterable - unless His low pipes whistle hints of it far out Across the ripples to the dragon-fly That like a wind-born blossom blown about, Drops quiveringly down, as though to die - Then lifts and wavers on, as if in doubt Whether to fan his wings or fly without.
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"This Pan is but an idle god, I guess,..."
Exploring the themes of classic, James Whitcomb Riley delivers a powerful performance in "Pan"... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...