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