The little pools of starlight splashAgainst the poplars' slender lines;The moon is like a golden comb,Caught in the tresses of the pines.
Go quietly, lest unawareYou find the leafless path that leadsTo where an older god than GodMakes cruel music through the reeds.
The lilies float like slender handsTowards a satyr-trampled brink.With crowns of oakleaves in their hairThe shouting fauns come down to drink.
Not Innocency's self shall walkThese breathless ways and shall not seeThe wine-stained lips and dangerous eyes,The swart-faced folk of Arcady;
And lovers, who have wandered throughThe clover-purple evening's peace,Have seen, deep-breasted, insolent,The mocking loveliness of Greece --
Have heard the lawless bugles singFrom that defiant Paradise,And glimpsed, like moonlight through the trees,The glory of unearthly eyes.
And never shall the watcher seekHis tender human loves again;For marble-white, with singing lips,The woodmaids glimmer through his brain.
Go quietly. The tall gods hereWould wear your beauty like a flower,To crush with jests and cast asideIn one unpitying, splendid hour.
