I

Haunter of green intricácies Where the sunlight's amber laces Deeps of darkest violet; Where the shaggy Satyr chases Nymphs and Dryads, fair as Graces, Whose white limbs with dew are wet: Piper in hid mountain places, Where the blue-eyed Oread braces Winds which in her sweet cheeks set Of Aurora rosy traces; While the Faun from myrtle mazes Watches with an eye of jet: What art thou and these dim races, Thou, O Pan, of many faces, Who art ruler yet?