Classic Poem

The sun has climbed my courtyard walls;
A glimpse of sky lifts far and free,
And through the strident city calls
Sound the low chimes of Arcady.

Now — from the roaring street upborne,
That strange, wild melody! Oh, hark!
Diana winds her hunting-horn —
Her chase, unseen, sweeps through the park!

Again, that cry so weirdly sweet!
Some singing tramp or organ man?
Ah, no! That is his sly deceit;
He blows the very pipes of Pan!

The wild half-gods awake to-day;
A faun has tracked yon square of green,
And in the tavern o'er the way
Old Bacchus laughs behind the screen!