Wild honey from various thyme By Michael Field [i.e. K. H. Bradley and E. E. Cooper] |
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 | Wild honey from various thyme |  |
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FROZEN RUSHES
Who is this satyr that with shepherd crookAnd fillet of dead pansies in his hand
Issues from forest cranny to this nook,
Where in a phalanx frozen rushes stand?
'Tis Pan among the thick-spiked icicles.
Oh see, through all this winter his device
To get down to the pith where music swells,
To clear the reed-bed from its ribs of ice!
“Nay, push not with thy finger 'mid the stones
At the pool's edges, where the water drips,
Nay, fret not for thy Syrinx—she is safe;
Thou can'st not draw her music to thy lips.”
A withered god among the briars he moans,
And breathes upon the reeds as he would chafe.
| Wild honey from various thyme | |