Hymn to Pan
Read 'Hymn to Pan' by 'Aleister Crowley' and provide your summary and literary analysis in the comments section below.
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!
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
