he goat, and say it is Nature. But Pan is not
Nature--a hybrid, half of man's making, rather. Your eyes fall to the
cloven hoof, but return to the level, steady gaze, smiling with such
soft sadness that your heart quickens for him, and you listen, as he
says: "All Gods have animal bodies and cloven hoofs, but I alone have
dared to reveal mine...." "How brave you are!" your heart answers, and
the throb of him bewilders you with passion.... You who are so high must
fall far, when you let go.

... And many of your generation shall want to fall. Pan has come to you
because you _dare_.... You have murdered the old shames, you have torn
down the ancient and mouldering churches. You do not require the blood,
the thorn, the spikes, but I wonder if even you of a glorious
generation, do not still require the Cross?... It is because you see so
surely and are level-eyed, that Pan is back in the world for you; and it
is very strange but true that you must first meet Pan and pass him by,
before you can enter into the woodlands with that valid lord of Nature,
whose back is a challenge to aspiration, and whose feet are of the
purity of the saints.

... He is there, or it may be, if you are not through with the world, he
is waiting in the wilderness. You must learn the hardest of all
lessons--to wait. You must pass by all others who are not true to the
dream. You must integrate your ideal of him--as you dream of the Shining
One who will become the third of the Trinity. He must be true to the
laws of beauty that the Old Mother has shown you. If he is less than the
dream, pass on--for though you travel together for years, at the end you
will look into the eyes of a stranger.... They are for those who have no
dreams--the dalliances that dull our senses, the Arrivals for whom
another is waiting.

... Perhaps in that solitary place, you turn to find him beside you.
There is a hush upon the world as you meet his eyes.... The wilderness
is bursting into verdure and singing.... He will not lure you to the low
earth; he will love you best when your arms turn upward in aspiration.
... A whirlpool, a vortex--this is but the beginning of ecstasy.

This is your hour. The flame that glows upon your mighty mating is from
the future. The woman is a love-instrument now, played upon by creative
light. This is the highest mystery of Nature--all hitherto is background
for this hour. The flight of the bee-queens, the lifting of wings
through all the woo