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Ah, what am I but a torrent,

Headstrong, impetuous, broken,

Like the spent clamour of waters

In the blue canyon?

Ah, what art thou but a fern-frond, 5

Wet with blown spray from the river,

Diffident, lovely, sequestered,

Frail on the rock-ledge?

Yet, are we not for one brief day,

While the sun sleeps on the mountain, 10

Wild-hearted lover and loved one,

Safe in Pan's keeping?