Page:The witch-maid & other verses (1914).djvu/29



the gods of Hellas do not tread our shaggy mountains, Stately, white-and-golden, with unfathomable eyes, Yet the lesser spirits haunt our forests and our fountains, Seas and green-brown river-pools no thirsty summer dries.

Never through the tangled scrub we see Diana glisten, Silver-limbed and crescent-crowned and swift to hear and turn, When the chase is hottest and the woods are waked to listen, While her maidens follow running knee-deep in the fern.

Of the great gods only Pan walks hourly here—Pan only, In the warm dark gullies, in the thin clear upland air,