Alicia. 
Only as the graven image of death
Which men call life, and ignorantly adore!

Crassus. 
Spare me!  I cannot bear you more.

Alicia. 
Then will I drown you.  Lock your fingers fast
In mind, and let our mouths mix at the last.
                        [The stuatue of Pan is seen to be alive.]

Pan. 
Shrill, shrill
Over the hill! 
The hunter is hot — this is the kill! 
Scream!  Scream! 
Dissolving the dream
Of life, the knife to the heart of the wife! 
The fountain jets
Its flood of blood,
And the moss that it wets
Is an amethyst flame of violets.

Who shall escape
Murder and rape
What I am alive in my solemn shape? 
Shrill, shrill,
Over the hill! 
The hunter is hot — this is the kill! 
The heart of the home
Is a fury of foam;
The storm is awake, and the billows comb. 
But though I be
Their frenzy of glee,
I am also the passionless soul of the sea!

Mine eyes glint fire,
And my cruel lips curl;
Mine the desire
Of the god and the girl;
But fierier and fleeter,
And subtler and sweeter
Than the race of the rhythm, the march of the metre,
Is the shrilling, shrilling
Of the knife in the killing
That ends, when it must,
(O the throb and the thrust!)
In a death, in the dust,
The silence, the stillness, of satiate lust,
The solemn pause
When the veil withdraws
And man looks on his god, on the Causeless Cause. 
Still, still,
Under the hill! 
The hunter is dead — this is the kill!

Crassus. 
Pan spoke.

Alicia. 
Pan never speaks till man is dumb,
And only then if he be like a child
Silently curled within its mother’s womb,
Or feeding at her breast.  There is a wild
Way also — when his dumbness is of death. 
And there’s a first and second death.  Remember
To die so that no god’s or angel’s breath
May quicken into life the wasted ember!

Crassus. 
I am dead now.

Alicia. 
But I must raise you up. 
The night grows darker; all Pan’s light is gone,
And you and I are pledged to sup
Upon a secret.

Crassus. 
All your secret shone.
                        [She laughs again.]

Alicia. 
Oh, when you know it!  But you must divine
Adela’s shrine.

Crassus. 
I am weary of Adela grown chaste and chill.

Alicia. 
The hunter lags; how heavy is the hill! 
But you are bound to Adela.

Crassus. 
To you!

Alicia. 
But you have given me freedom.  I will leave you.

Crassus. 
What have I done to grieve you?

Alicia. 
You have been the solemn fool with face awry
That I have gathered in my ecstasy. 
You are only a vulgar primrose I have plucked.