A strip of blue is on the sky-line gleaming,
And all the wood is fresh with pearls;
The stream that down the slope its waters hurls
With chatter and with mirth is teeming.
Hark to the waves how in their savage strife,
They wake the echoes in the rocks to life.
Thou weenest 'midst their streaming
Stands mighty Pan, exulting as they brawl,
O'er back and arms, and all
His tresses flowing free
He gazes, how the waves in torrents fall,
And claps his hands for glee.