Though thine own past hath had its sorrow,
Though all thy sylvan friends have fled,
Thou still canst smile at every morrow,
For Nature lives, though Pan is dead.

Thou didst not grieve with futile wailing
When altars crumbled far and near,
When gods were scoffed, and faith was failing,
And worship lessened year by year.

Above thee still rose lofty mountains,
Before thee lay the lake divine,
Around thee sang the crystal fountains,—­
With all these treasures, why repine?

Religions changed, and shrines were banished,
Years slipped away, men came and went,
But thou, whatever pleasures vanished,
With what thou hadst wast still content.

Not thine our fatal strain of sadness,
As cherished fancies fade away;
For thee the simple soul of gladness,—­
The careless rapture of to-day!

Farewell! within my heart abiding
I hear thy music, gentle Faun,—­
The wounds of disillusion hiding,
The prelude to a happier dawn.

WAKEFULNESS

Drifting, idly drifting, where thought’s varied streams
Meet at last and mingle in the realm of dreams,
Gladly would I join them in oblivion’s deep! 
      Sleep, so dear to me,
      Sleep, come near to me,
      Sleep, sweet sleep!

Toward the night’s Nirvana groping for the way,
Striving, ever striving to forget the day,
Waves of dreamless slumber, o’er my spirit creep! 
      Sleep, so dear to me,
      Sleep, come near to me,
      Sleep, sweet sleep!

By the stream of Lethe, fettered to the brink,
Longing for the breaking of the last, frail link,
Eager for its billows o’er my mind to sweep,
      Sleep, so dear to me,
      Sleep, come near to me,
      Sleep, sweet sleep!

Waiting, ever waiting for thy soothing call,
And the welcome darkness that envelops all,
If no more to waken, then no more to weep,
      Sleep, so dear to me,
      Sleep, come near to me,
      Sleep, sweet sleep!

VILLA PLINIANA

It stands where darkly wooded cliffs
Slope swiftly to the deep,
And silvery streams from ledge to ledge
In foaming splendor leap,—­
A broad expanse of saffron walls,
A wilderness of mouldering halls.

The torrent’s breath hath spread its blight
On every darkened room,
And oozing mosses drip decay
Through corridors of gloom,
While Ruin lays a subtle snare
On many a yielding rail and stair.

There seats, which beauty once enthroned,
In tattered damask stand;
In gray neglect a faun extends
A mutilated hand;
And silence makes the festal board
Mute as the stringless harpsichord.

The boldest hesitate to tread
Those gruesome courts at night;
’Tis whispered that a spectral form
Then haunts the lonely height;
For he who built this home apart
Had stabbed his rival to the heart.