Ruth Gaines

I HEARD a flute that sang unto the dawn,

The dawn dove-grey,

Until it flushed to swift desire the wan

White heart of day:

Until it brimmed the virgin-breasted hills

With golden fire,

And sang through all the azure-veined rills

Love’s wild desire.

O child heart of the Dawn, who lay so mute

On Night’s dark breast,

I saw you quicken to the shepherd flute

Of love’s unrest;

I saw you ravished from your skyey sphere—

Fleet-foot you ran,

Down dryad paths you followed clear

The Flute of Pan.