MAURICE DE GUERIN
By Maurice Francis Egan
The old wine filled him, and he saw, with eyesAnoint of Nature, fauns and dryads fairUnseen by others; to him maidenhairAnd waxen lilacs, and those birds that riseA-sudden from tall reeds at slight surprise,Brought charmed thoughts; and in earth everywhereHe, like sad Jaques, found a music rareAs that of Syrinx to old Grecians wise.A pagan heart, a Christian soul had he,He followed Christ, yet for dead Pan he sighed,Till earth and heaven met within his breast;As if Theocritus in SicilyHad come upon the Figure crucifiedAnd lost his gods in deep, Christ-given rest.
The old wine filled him, and he saw, with eyesAnoint of Nature, fauns and dryads fairUnseen by others; to him maidenhairAnd waxen lilacs, and those birds that riseA-sudden from tall reeds at slight surprise,Brought charmed thoughts; and in earth everywhereHe, like sad Jaques, found a music rareAs that of Syrinx to old Grecians wise.A pagan heart, a Christian soul had he,He followed Christ, yet for dead Pan he sighed,Till earth and heaven met within his breast;As if Theocritus in SicilyHad come upon the Figure crucifiedAnd lost his gods in deep, Christ-given rest.
The old wine filled him, and he saw, with eyesAnoint of Nature, fauns and dryads fairUnseen by others; to him maidenhairAnd waxen lilacs, and those birds that riseA-sudden from tall reeds at slight surprise,Brought charmed thoughts; and in earth everywhereHe, like sad Jaques, found a music rareAs that of Syrinx to old Grecians wise.A pagan heart, a Christian soul had he,He followed Christ, yet for dead Pan he sighed,Till earth and heaven met within his breast;As if Theocritus in SicilyHad come upon the Figure crucifiedAnd lost his gods in deep, Christ-given rest.
The old wine filled him, and he saw, with eyes
Anoint of Nature, fauns and dryads fair
Unseen by others; to him maidenhair
And waxen lilacs, and those birds that rise
A-sudden from tall reeds at slight surprise,
Brought charmed thoughts; and in earth everywhere
He, like sad Jaques, found a music rare
As that of Syrinx to old Grecians wise.
A pagan heart, a Christian soul had he,
He followed Christ, yet for dead Pan he sighed,
Till earth and heaven met within his breast;
As if Theocritus in Sicily
Had come upon the Figure crucified
And lost his gods in deep, Christ-given rest.