Page:Ephemera, Greek prose poems (IA ephemeragreek00buckrich).pdf/35



—Seest thou that young man in the white linen tunic with a yellow sash? Look at him well.

—I see him. Who is he?

—He is a poet. His verses are very strange. In them one can hear the sighing of the wind, the murmur of waters, the whisperings of the trees They are very strange  But that is not all. Some which I have heard are stranger still They say he has seen the nymphs. They say he has slept in the forests among the satyrs; that Pan himself once listened from a leafy bower while he sang And when he plays the syrinx, no one can resist him.

—He is looking this way. How strangely piercing his eyes! He is very beautiful. Let us go speak with him

—I dare not. I dare not.