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The denizens of the dear elder world,
Oread, Centaur, Nereid, and Faun,
Who wait for me in my far island home.
Hermes:
Yet even here they are not wholly dead,
In gallant horseman and a perfect horse
The once-dissever'd Centaur lives again,
For heart-whole heady rapture of the chase,
The forest-haunting lad is half a Faun,
Spoiling the vineyard, harrying the hive,
The wine-warm'd peasant a Silenus seems.
The girl who meets her lover in the woods,
Who bathes at noontide in the forest pool
Is almost Nymph.
Peregrina:
Aye, still Eternal Youth
As Dionysos cries upon the hills
Holloaing up the hunt, each April-tide
