From The Dionysian Days

 Golden apples from the grove fall down the tree
 And make all the Bacchants gather in Arcady
 To dance on the Festival of the Tragedy
 And eat the [bad word] of ecstasy

 In the midwood twilight, on his pipe plays the faun
 In the green temple, from the dionysian days, watch the dawn.

 Goat-foot God rises your Rod, be free, and know the world
 Hath need of thee and Arcady
 OOGoat-foot God, play your pipe, tonight, wild and free.
 Your melody out of Arcady