III

But yesterday I heard the lay Of summer birds, when I, as they With breast and wing, All quivering With life and love, could only sing.

My head was lent Where, with it, blent A maiden's o'er her instrument; While all the night, From vale to height, Was filled with echoes of delight.

And all our dreams Were lit with gleams Of that lost land of reedy streams. Along whose brim Forever swim Pan's lilies, laughing up at him.