Explore "When the great pink mallow" by Bliss Carman on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
When the great pink mallow / Blossoms in the marshland, / Full of lazy summer / And soft hours,
Then I hear the summons / Not a mortal lover / Ever yet resisted, / Strange and far.
In the faint blue foothills, / Making magic music, / Pan is at his love-work / On the reeds.
I can guess the heart-stop, / Fall and lull and sequence, / Full of grief for Syrinx / Long ago.
Then the crowding madness, / Wild and keen and tender, / Trembles with the burden / Of great joy.
Nay, but well I follow, / All unskilled, that fluting. / Never yet was reed-nymph / Like to thee.