by Archibald Lampman




 Mad with love and laden
    With immortal pain,
Pan pursued a maiden—
    Pan, the god—in vain,

For when Pan had nearly                                                           5
    Touched her, wild to plead,
She was gone—and clearly
    In her place a reed!

Long the god, unwitting,
    Through the valley strayed;                                                   10
Then at last, submitting,
    Cut the reed, and made,

Deftly fashioned, seven
    Pipes, and poured his pain
Unto earth and heaven                                                             15
    In a piercing strain.

So with god and poet;
    Beauty lures them on,
Flies, and ere they know it
    Like a wraith is gone.                                                           20

Then they seek to borrow
    Pleasure still from wrong,
And with smiling sorrow
    Turn it to a song.