To you, that went from Arcady
To follow after worldly shows,
My songs shall bring unfailingly
The scent of bay and forest rose.

To follow after worldly shows
You left our laurel-sheltered bourn. . . .
The scent of bay and forest rose
Too heavy lies on hearts forlorn.

You left our laurel-sheltered bourn,
Our love must wander desolate:
Too heavy lies on hearts forlorn
The fallen, faded petals' weight.

Our love must wander desolate,
Weaving in pain, to one wild dirge,
The fallen, faded petals' weight,
The rolling of a roted surge;

Weaving in pain, to one wild dirge,
The ancient, deep, foregone delight. . . .
The rolling of a roted surge
Returns around a pagan height.

The ancient, deep, foregone delight
Wakens the pastoral pipes again,
Returns around a pagan height
To call, nor always call in vain—

Wakens the pastoral pipes again
My songs shall bring unfailingly,
To call, nor always call in vain
To you, that went from Arcady.