In Ages Past

I stood upon a height and listened to The solemn psalmody of many pines, And with the sound I seemed to see long lines Of mountains rise, blue peak on cloudy blue, And hear the roar of torrents hurling through Riven ravines; or from the crags’ gaunt spines Pouring wild hair, where,--as an eyeball shines,-- A mountain pool shone, clear and cold of hue. And then my soul remembered--felt, how once, In ages past, ’twas here that I, a Faun, Startled an Oread at her morning bath, Who stood revealed; her beauty, like the sun’s, Veiled in her hair, heavy with dews of dawn, Through which, like stars, burnt blue her eyes’ bright wrath.