The infidel;Three to whom PanIs no mere myth,But a singing ManTo be reckoned with;—Witness him nowIn the mist and dew;Lean and hear howHe carols to you:"Gather as a flowerLiving to your heart;Let the full showerRankle and smart;Youth is the cofferWhere all is hid;All age may offerYouth can outbid.Blind with your beautyThe ranks of scorn,Take for a dutyPleasure; you were bornJoy to incur.Ere the eyes are mistedWith a rheumy blur,Ere the speech is twistedTo a throaty slur,Ere the cheeks are haggard;
7
