O but my delicate lover,
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Is she not fair as the moonlight?
Is she not supple and strong
Has not the god of the green world,
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In his large tolerant wisdom,
Filled with the ardours of earth
Well did he make her for loving;
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Well did he mould her for beauty;
Gave her the wish that is brave
"O Pan, avert from this maiden
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Sorrow, misfortune, bereavement,
Harm, and unhappy regret,"