And when, at length, Great Pan is dead
   uprose the loud and dolorous cry
A glamour witherd on the ground,
   a splendour faded in the sky.

Yea, Pan was dead, the Nazarene came
   and seized his seat beneath the sun,
The votary of the Riddle-god,
   whose one is three and three is one;

Whose saddening creed of herited Sin
   spilt oer the world its cold grey spell;
In every vista showed a grave,
   and neath the grave the glare of Hell;

Till all Lifes Poesy sinks to prose;
   romance to dull Reality fades;
Earths flush of gladness pales in gloom
   and God again to man degrades.

Then the lank Arab foul with sweat,
   the drainer of the camels dug,
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