The Counsel Of Pan

In this green meadow, traveller, yield Thy weary limbs to rest: The branches of the stone pine sway To the wind from out the west; The cricket calls, and all noon long The shepherd's piping fills The plane-grove's leafy shadows By the spring among the hills. Soothed by these sounds thou shalt avoid The dogstar's autumn fires, And then to-morrow cross the ridge;-- Such wisdom Pan inspires.