SING his praises that doth keep
Our flocks from harm.
Pan, the father of our sheep;
And arm in arm
Tread we softly in a round,
Whilst the hollow neighbouring ground
Fills the music with her sound.
Pan, O great god Pan, to thee
Thus do we sing!
Thou who keep'st us chaste and free
As the young spring:
Ever be thy honour spoke
From that place the morn is broke
To that place day doth unyoke!
| Best Poems | Short Poems
Email Poem |
Top Aleister Crowley Poems
Analysis and Comments on Hymn to Pan
Provide your analysis, explanation, meaning, interpretation, and comments on the poem Hymn to Pan here.
Commenting has been disabled for now.