Golden apples from the grove fall down the tree And make all the Bacchants gather in Arcady To dance on the Festival of the Tragedy And eat the fruits of ecstasy
In the midwood twilight, on his pipe plays the faun In the green temple, from the dionysian days, watch the dawn.
Goat-foot God rises your Rod, be free, and know the world Hath need of thee and Arcady OOGoat-foot God, play your pipe, tonight, wild and free. Your melody out of Arcady
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