And that dismal cry rose slowly And sank slowly through the air, Full of spirit's melancholy And eternity's despair; And they heard the words it said,- "Pan is dead! great Pan is dead! Pan, Pan is dead!"

I love thee freely, as men strive for right. I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. I love thee with the passion put to use

What I do and what I dream include thee, as the wine must taste of its own grapes.

And each man stands with his face in the light. Of his own drawn sword, ready to do what a hero can.

The essence of all beauty, I call love.

We overstate the ills of life, and take Imagination... down our earth to rake.

Silence is the best response to a fool.