Here down this very way, 
Here only yesterday 
    King Faun went leaping. 
He sang, with careless shout 
Hurling his name about; 
He sang, with oaken stock 
His steps from rock to rock 
    In safety keeping, 
    “Here Faun is free, 
    Here Faun is free!” 

Today against yon pine, 
Forlorn yet still divine, 
    King Faun leant weeping. 
“They drank my holy brook, 
My strawberries they took,
My private path they trod.” 
Loud wept the desolate God, 
    Scorn on scorn heaping, 
    “Faun, what is he? 
    Faun, what is he?” 

Added: Apr 28 2005 | Viewed: 487 times | Comments (0)

Poet: Robert Graves
Poem: Faun

Poem of the Day on:
Jul 16 2008
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