 | The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley |  |
1336
THE PIPES OF PAN
The Pipes of Pan! Not idler now are theyThan when their cunning fashioner first blew
The pith of music from them: Yet for you
And me their notes are blown in many a way
Lost in our murmurings for that old day
That fared so well without us.—Waken to
The pipings here at hand:—The clear halloo
Of truant voices, and the roundelay
The waters warble in the solitude
Of blooming thickets, where the robin's breast
Sends up such ecstasy o'er dale and dell
Each tree top answers, till in all the wood
There lingers not one squirrel in his nest
Whetting his hunger on an empty shell.
| The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley | |