Forgotten Pipes of Pan
An eerie, haunting, plaintive croon,
Above the winds' low fret;
It came across the sober years,
And wrenched my heart to sudden tears;
That I ever should forget!
I wonder if his piping comes
To you like bells and rolling drums
On silver April rain!
And at its wistful cadence low,
If you remembering- will know
A sweet, insistent pain?
Edited by May William Ward
(New York: Henry Harrison. 1935)