Faun See all items with this value

Here down this very way,
Here only yesterday
King Faun went leaping.
He sang, with careless shout
Hurling his name about;
He sang, with oaken stock
His steps from rock to rock
In safety keeping,
'Here Faun is free,
Here Faun is free!'
To-day against yon pine,
Forlorn yet still divine,
King Faun leant weeping.
'They drank my holy brook,
My strawberries they took,
My private path they trod.'
Loud wept the desolate God,
Scorn on scorn heaping,
'Faun, what is he,
Faun, what is he?'

3420.txt

Graves, Robert (1895-1985) See all items with this value

(1995, 1997, 1999)

1997-01-01

1999-12-31

Poem

The First World War Poetry Digital Archive

3420.txt