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