To Pan by HP Lovecraft

Hoofs it had instead of toes
And a beard adorn’d its throat.

On a set of rustic reeds
Sweetly play’d this hybrid man
Naught car’d I for earthly needs,
For I knew that this was Pan.

Nymphs and Satyrs gather’d round
To enjoy the lively sound.

All to soon I woke in pain
And return’d to haunts of men
But in rural vales I’d fain
Live and hear Pan’s pipes again.