Pan (A double villanelle by Oscar Wilde)
I
O goat-foot God of Arcady!
This modern world is grey and old,
And what remains to us of thee?
No more the shepherd lads in glee
Throw apples at thy wattled fold,
O goat-foot God of Arcady!
Nor through the laurels can one see
Thy soft brown limbs, thy beard of gold,
And what remains to us of thee?
And dull and dead our Thames would be,
For here the winds are chill and cold,
O goat-foot God of Arcady!
Then keep the tomb of Helice,
Thine olive-woods, thy vine-clad wold,
And what remains to us of thee?
Though many an unsung elegy
Sleeps in the reeds our rivers hold,
O goat-foot God of Arcady!
Ah, what remains to us of thee?
II
Ah, leave the hills of Arcady,
Thy satyrs and their wanton play,
This modern world hath need of thee.
No nymph or Faun indeed have we,
For Faun and nymph are old and grey,
Ah, leave the hills of Arcady!
This is the land where liberty
Lit grave-browed Milton on his way,
This modern world hath need of thee!
A land of ancient chivalry
Where gentle Sidney saw the day,
Ah, leave the hills of Arcady!
This fierce sea-lion of the sea,
This England lacks some stronger lay,
This modern world hath need of thee!
Then blow some trumpet loud and free,
And give thine oaten pipe away,
Ah, leave the hills of Arcady!
This modern world hath need of thee!
thethuthinnang (in beige)
npub1jw…rm42w
2026-07-04 12:08:03 UTC
Author Public Key
npub1jwn2f6jgfk7yalqgz2qxnpw3jpheuytnle6z5guvy8rvhw7pmtmq3rm42wSeen on
wss://relay.ditto.pubPublished at
2026-07-04 12:08:03 UTCEvent JSON
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"content": "Pan (A double villanelle by Oscar Wilde)\n \n I\n\nO goat-foot God of Arcady!\nThis modern world is grey and old,\nAnd what remains to us of thee?\n\nNo more the shepherd lads in glee\nThrow apples at thy wattled fold,\nO goat-foot God of Arcady!\n\nNor through the laurels can one see\nThy soft brown limbs, thy beard of gold,\nAnd what remains to us of thee?\n\nAnd dull and dead our Thames would be,\nFor here the winds are chill and cold,\nO goat-foot God of Arcady!\n\nThen keep the tomb of Helice,\nThine olive-woods, thy vine-clad wold,\nAnd what remains to us of thee?\n\nThough many an unsung elegy\nSleeps in the reeds our rivers hold,\nO goat-foot God of Arcady!\nAh, what remains to us of thee?\n\n II\n\nAh, leave the hills of Arcady,\nThy satyrs and their wanton play,\nThis modern world hath need of thee.\n\nNo nymph or Faun indeed have we,\nFor Faun and nymph are old and grey,\nAh, leave the hills of Arcady!\n\nThis is the land where liberty\nLit grave-browed Milton on his way,\nThis modern world hath need of thee!\n\nA land of ancient chivalry\nWhere gentle Sidney saw the day,\nAh, leave the hills of Arcady!\n\nThis fierce sea-lion of the sea,\nThis England lacks some stronger lay,\nThis modern world hath need of thee!\n\nThen blow some trumpet loud and free,\nAnd give thine oaten pipe away,\nAh, leave the hills of Arcady!\nThis modern world hath need of thee!",
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