I could be described as grass,
As springs, as boughs of trees,
As rivers alternately clear or impure,
Streaking the blue skies of summer,
The black gravel,
Reflecting the water’s edge and the day and the night.
As meadows, as fields, as woods,
As dales where I stop,
I sing of nature and its robust charm.
Just as the tree bends
And bows down and twists itself.
I entrust to the gales
My own branches.
The nights of summer make all my leaves tremble.
In copper autumn, my dreams reflect themselves.
The moon is my friend.
To the lyrical birds
I lend the living, green shade of my branches.
Oh Pan! Oh, Pan!
I feel trembling in the same veins
As those of the heavy woods
And of the serene springs.
Dawn rises over the azure mountains.
Give to my flaming lyre
The purest tones
So that I might sink into the divine cadences,
The greenness and the fruits,
That weigh down the hills.
The shadows flee, in daytime
The golden earth is reborn.
The world sings and shines
In my surprised eyes
And, under the weight of evening
And of the fervent night,
My soul opens itself
Like a scintillating sunrise!
Oh Pan!