The Great War

from War: an Ode And Other Poems, an electronic edition

Pan's Flute

My heart's whole love in thy white hand I lay,

Irrevocably as befits the deed,

Undoubtingly, for surely Love decreed

Complete surrender, and I must obey.

Sweet Lady, do not throw the love away;

There may be roses in a wrinkled seed,

And Pan drew music from a broken reed

Till all the world danced round to hear him play.

Imprisoned in my passion's thorny fruit

A million crimson roses crumpled lie;

And though my melancholy heart be mute,

Touch it and lyric voices will reply.

Make of the hollow reed a magic lute,

To tremble with thy breath, and sing, and sigh.