The Faun to his Shadow

The Faun said to his shadow, "How can I dance or play 
When never an Oread beckons me at dawning of the day? 
When never an Oread, rosy-limbed, laughs through the living grass 
Or leans adown the river-bank to make the stream her glass?" 

The Faun said to his shadow, "The days are over-long, 
The very ousel-cock begins to pipe a sadder song—
Oh, short sweet days of summer, would that I slept with you 
In your nest lined warm with faded flowers, old kisses and lost dew! 

Oh, faded flowers of fennel, that will not bloom again 
For any south wind's calling, for any magic rain — 
What gold is left in all the world, what gold for me to win? 
What shadows worth the hiding in, what sorrow worth the sin? 

And you, O dear dead Oreads, I would not have you back, 
For the world's old, and the world's cold, and love is turned to lack. 
Better for me to leave these fields forlorn, these meadows gray, 
And follow your fading footsteps upon the sunless way — 
And find — who knows what a Faun may find beyond the night and day?"