In the mad and Mænad dance

Onward dragged with violence;

Pan and old Silenus and

Faunus and a Bacchant band

Round me. Wild my wine-stained hand

O'er tumultuous hair is lifted;

While the flushed and Phallic orgies

Whirl around me; and the marges

Of the wood are torn and rifted

With lascivious laugh and shout.

And barbarian there again,—

Shameless with the shameless rout,

Bacchus lusting in each vein,—

With her pagan lips on mine,

Like a god made drunk with wine,

On I reel; and, in the revels,

Her loose hair, the dance dishevels,

Blows, and 'thwart my vision swims

All the splendor of her limbs....

So it seems. Yet woods are lonely.

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