What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape Of deities, or mortals, or of both,

In Tempe or the vales of Arcady?

What men or gods are these? What maidens loth? What mad pursuit? What struggles to escape?

What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?

Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter; therefore ye soft pipes, play on-
Not to the sensual ear, but more endeared,

Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone!
Fair youth beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
Thy song, nor even can those trees be bare;

Bold lover, never, never canst thou kiss

Though winning near the goal, yet do not grieve-
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
Forever wilt thou love and she be fair!

Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed
Your leaves, nor ever bid the spring adieu;
And happy melodist, unwearied,

Forever piping songs forever new;

More happy love! More happy, happy love!
Forever warm and still to be enjoyed,

Forever panting and forever young;

All breathing human passion far above,

That leaves a heart high sorrowful and cloyed, A burning forehead and a parching tongue.

Who are these coming to the sacrifice?

To what green altar, O mysterious priest,

Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,
And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?
What little town by river or sea-shore,

Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
Is emptied of her folk, this pious morn?
And, little town, thy streets forevermore

Will silent be; and not a soul to tell
Why thou art desolate, will e'er return.

O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede
Of marble men and maidens overwrought,
With forest branches and the trodden weed!
Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternity! Cold pastoral!

When old age shall this generation waste,

Thou shalt remain in midst of other woe Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, "Beauty is truth, truth, beauty, that is all

Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know!"

R XII

FOR TIMES WHEN "THE WORLD IS TOO

MUCH WITH US"

(Antidotes for the Strenuous Life)