YE hooded witches baleful shapes that moan

    Quench your fantastic lanterns and be still；

    For now the moon through heaven sails alone

    Shedding her peaceful rays from hill to hill.

    The faun from out his dim and secret place

    Draws nigh the darkling pool and from his dream

    Half-wakens seeing there his sylvan face

    Reflected and the wistful eyes that gleam.

    To his cold lips he sets the pipe to blow

    Some drowsy note that charms the listening air：

    The dryads from their trees come down and creep

    Near to his side； monotonous and low

    He plays and plays till at the woodside there

    Stirs to the voice of everlasting sleep.