When the flowery hands of spring br Forth their woodland riches fling, br Through the meadows, through the valleys br Goes the satyr carolling. br br From the mountain and the moor, br Forest green and ocean shore br All the faerie kin he rallies br Making music evermore. br br See! the shaggy pelt doth grow br On his twisted shanks below, br And his dreadful feet are cloven br Though his brow be white as snow- br br Though his brow be clear and white br And beneath it fancies bright, br Wisdom and high thoughts are woven br And the musics of delight, br br Though his temples too be fair br Yet two horns are growing there br Bursting forth to part asunder br All the riches of his hair. br br Faerie maidens he may meet br Fly the horns and cloven feet, br But, his sad brown eyes with wonder br Seeing-stay from their retreat.