Page:Poems, Volume 2, Coates, 1916.djvu/102



F tasting Heliconian springs

He of their waters drank not deep,

If, smiling, he beheld not things

Revealed to eyes that weep,

If dread Dodona's Oracle

And Delphi's voice for him were mute,

If grave Minerva in his path

Dropped never silver flute,—

Yet beauty wove a magic spell

For him, and early, at his need,

Upon a bed of asphodel

He found a tuneful reed,—

The Syrinx-reed Thessalian,

Of plaintive, far renown,

The universal pipe of Pan,—

Where the god laid it down.

Right reverently from the ground

He lifted up the sacred thing,