The contest of the Satyr with the God, Oh who shall end it? Who shall end the strife That fills all Art, all Nature and all Life, And give the right of flaying with a nod? Oh who when radiant noontide’s last note dies, And darkness with its mystery draws near, Shall bid the strains of twilight not arise That fill the soul with wistfulness or fear? Man gives his love in turn, he knows not why, To sun or gloom according to his mood; His ear, his heart, alternately is woo’d By Nature’s...
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