Out of the mid-wood's twilight
Into the meadow's dawn,
Ivory limbed and brown-eyed,
Flashes my Faun! 

He skips through the copses singing,
And his shadow dances along,
And I know not which I should follow,
Shadow or song! 

O Hunter, snare me his shadow!
O Nightingale, catch me his strain!
Else moonstruck with music and madness
I track him in vain!