The Piping Shepherd

BY the river I cut a reed, and the slip
I shaped to a pipe; I puckered my lip,
And loudly I blew and clearly.
There were none to hear but the grazing flock
And a lonely cloud, and an echo to mock ;
But I loved to play, most dearly.

Then I paused to rest, and, faint and clear,
Some sound as of piping reached my ear, —
The piping, the piping of Pan !
Did it come from the east, from the forest shade,
Where he played in shadow or open glade ?
I threw down my pipe and ran.

In the forest I stood, and my listening ear
I bent, and breathless I waited to hear;
And the forest, too, was still,
Till a robin sang in some hidden spot,
And a dead branch cracked : but I heeded not,
For that pipe blew faint and shrill.

Was it by the river, down in the west ?
I stripped the goat-skin off from my breast,
And out of the shade I ran;
Away my scrip and my cap I threw ;
I tore through the long grass, wet with dew,
And followed the piping of Pan.

Whene’er I paused I heard it again ;
It blew so sweetly it gave me pain ;
Some words it seemed trying to say.
It was not here, it was not there ;
I fancied the sound was everywhere,
But always was far away.

O Pan ! O Pan ! O piping Pan !
Naked and breathless on I ran.
Why did I follow him then ?
It was but once that I heard him play,
But never, since I listened that day,
Have I cared to pipe again.