Iv

For, all around me, upon field and hill, Enchantment lies as of mysterious flutes; As if the music of a god's good-will Had taken on material attributes In blooms, like chords; and in the water-gleam, That runs its silvery scales on every stream; In sunbeam bars, up which the butterfly, A golden note, vibrates then flutters on-- Inaudible tunes, blown on the pipes of Pan, That have assumed a visible entity, And drugged the air with beauty so, a Faun, Behold, I seem, and am no more a man.