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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=506393" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Pan and Luna</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Si credere dignum est.--Virgil, Georgics, III, 390</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Oh, worthy of belief I hold it was, <br>Virgil, your legend in those strange three lines! <br>No question, that adventure came to pass <br>One black night in Arcadia: yes, the pines, <br>Mountains and valleys mingling made one mass <br>Of black with void black heaven: the earth's confines, <br>The sky's embrace,--below, above, around, <br>All hardened into black without a bound. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Fill up a swart stone chalice to the brim <br>With fresh-squeezed yet fast-thickening poppy-juice: <br>See how the sluggish jelly, late a-swim, <br>Turns marble to the touch of who would loose <br>The solid smooth, grown jet from rim to rim, <br>By turning round the bowl! So night can fuse <br>Earth with her all-comprising sky. No less, <br>Light, the least spark, shows air and emptiness. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And thus it proved when--diving into space, <br>Stript of all vapor, from each web of mist, <br>Utterly film-free--entered on her race <br>The naked Moon, full-orbed antagonist <br>Of night and dark, night's dowry: peak to base, <br>Upstarted mountains, and each valley, kissed <br>To sudden life, lay silver-bright: in air <br>Flew she revealed, Maid-Moon with limbs all bare. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Still as she fled, each depth,--where refuge seemed-- <br>Opening a lone pale chamber, left distinct <br>Those limbs: mid still-retreating blue, she teemed <br>Herself with whiteness,--virginal, uncinct <br>By any halo save what finely gleamed <br>To outline not disguise her: heavenwas linked <br>In one accord with earth to quaff the joy, <br>Drain beauty to the dregs without alloy. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Whereof she grew aware. What help? When, lo, <br>A succorable cloud with sleep lay dense: <br>Some pinetree-top had caught it sailing slow, <br>And tethered for a prize: in evidence <br>Captive lay fleece on fleece of piled-up snow <br>Drowsily patient: flake-heaped how or whence, <br>The structure of that succorable cloud, <br>What matter? Shamed she plunged into its shroud. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Orbed--so the woman-figure poets call <br>Because of rounds on rounds--that apple-shaped <br>Head which its hair binds close into a ball <br>Each side the curving ears--that pure undraped <br>Pout of the sister paps--that . . . once for all, <br>Say--her consummate circle thus escaped <br>With its innumerous circlets, sank absorbed, <br>Safe in the cloud--O naked Moon full-orbed! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But what means this? The downy swathes combine, <br>Conglobe, the smothery coy-caressing stuff <br>Curdles about her! Vain each twist and twine <br>Those lithe limbs try, encroached on by a fluff <br>Fitting as close as fits the dented spine <br>Its flexible ivory outside-flesh: enough! <br>The plumy drifts contract, condense, constringe, <br>Till she is swallowed by the feathery springe. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">As when a pearl slips lost in the thin foam <br>Churned on a sea-shore, and, o'er-frothed, conceits <br>Herself safe-housed in Amphitrite's dome,-- <br>If, through the bladdery wave-worked yeast, she meets <br>What most she loathes and leaps from,--elf from gnome <br>No gladlier,--finds that safest of retreats <br>Bubble about a treacherous hand wide ope <br>To grasp her--(divers who pick pearls so grope)-- </div><div style="margin:10px 0">So lay this Maid-Moon clasped around and caught <br>By rough red Pan, the god of all that tract: <br>He it was schemed the snare thus subtly wrought <br>With simulated earth-breath,--wool-tufts packed <br>Into a billowy wrappage. Sheep far-sought <br>For spotless shearings yield such: take the fact <br>As learned Virgil gives it,--how the breed <br>Whitens itself forever: yes, indeed! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">If one forefather ram, though pure as chalk <br>From tinge on fleece, should still display a tongue <br>Black 'neath the beast's moist palate, prompt men balk <br>The propagating plague: he gets no young: <br>They rather slay him,--sell his hide to calk <br>Ships with, first steeped with pitch,--nor hands are wrung <br>In sorrow for his fate: protected thus, <br>The purity we loved is gained for us. So did girl-Moon, by just her attribute <br>Of unmatched modesty betrayed, lie trapped, <br>Bruised to the breast of Pan, half god half brute, <br>Raked by his bristly boar-sward while he lapped <br>--Never say, kissed her! that were to pollute <br>Love's language--which moreover proves unapt <br>To tell how she recoiled--as who finds thorns <br>Where she sought flowers--when, feeling, she touched--horns! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then--does the legend say?--first moon-eclipse <br>Happened, first swooning-fit which puzzled sore <br>The early sages? Is that why she dips <br>Into the dark, a minute and no more, <br>Only so long as serves her while she rips <br>The cloud's womb through and, faultless as before, <br>Pursues her way? No lesson for a maid <br>Left she, a maid herself thus trapped, betrayed? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ha, Virgil? Tell the rest, you! &quot;To the deep <br>Of his domain the wildwood, Pan forthwith <br>Called her, and so she followed&quot;--in her sleep, <br>Surely?--&quot;by no means spurning him.&quot; The myth <br>Explain who may! Let all else go, I keep <br>--As of a ruin just a monolith-- <br>Thus much, one verse of five words, each a boon: <br>Arcadia, night, a cloud, Pan, and the moon.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Robert+Browning">Robert Browning</a><div class=q>
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Oh, worthy of belief I hold it was, 
Virgil, your legend in those strange three lines! 
No question, that adventure came to pass 
One black night in Arcadia: yes, the pines, 
Mountains and valle..."></div>
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