THE FAUN

 THE FAUN

Through the field and the meadow,

The Faun goes day and night;

Stepping like green grasses,

With their cloven hooves.

And among the cold falling snow

In the lands of the wild North,

Go the walking Faun;

Joyful and ringing,

There is no joyful sound of your flute

Made of bronze and silver.

Your invading melody goes

Woods and forests throughout;

Calling the dark fairies,

That hide in the bushes.

Desperate to the sound of bossa,

Elves sleeping on the branches.

The happy Faun dances

With the Nymphs at your side;

And from your curly hair,

two goat horns sprout;

And his outstretched tail shines

Let it serve as a scarf in the cold.