Classic Poem

Among the reeds, beside a singing fountain
Silenus sat, when life was young and gay,
And piped until the echoes from the mountain
Awoke the birds as if at break of day.

The fount is dry, and no more old Silenus
Makes singing sweet re-echo on the shore.
Great Pan is dead; the exiled fauns have seen us
Walk with bowed heads, where blithe they danced before.