Classic Poem

The Satyr

" HOLLOW " he cries and " hollow, hollow. "
Mark how the creeping moon is yellow
On the cold stones, enmeshing feet
That are not soft, with blood not sweet.

Though in the night one cry his Name
The shuddering air shrinks from the aim;
And failing eddies will not stir
To let him through to Lucifer.

What answers where no echoes fly?
None where the moon looks balefully.
Unheard, far-off " O hollow, hollow "
The satyr crieth to his fellow.English