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Archibald Lampman - The Song Of Pan
Work rating: Low

Mad with love and laden
   With immortal pain,
 Pan pursued a maiden--
   Pan, the god--in vain.

 For when Pan had nearly
   Touched her, wild to plead,
 She was gone--and clearly
   In her place a reed!

 Long the god, unwitting,
   Through the valley strayed;
 Then at last, submitting,
   Cut the reed, and made,

 Deftly fashioned, seven
   Pipes, and poured his pain
 Unto earth and heaven
   In a piercing strain.

 So with god and poet;
   Beauty lures them on,
 Flies, and ere they know it
   Like a wraith is gone.

 Then they seek to borrow
   Pleasure still from wrong,
 And with smiling sorrow
   Turn it to a song.
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