Haunched like a faun, he hooed <br />From grove of moon-glint and fen-frost <br />Until all owls in the twigged forest <br />Flapped black to look and brood <br />On the call this man made. <br /> <br />No sound but a drunken coot <br />Lurching home along river bank. <br />Stars hung water-sunk, so a rank <br />Of double star-eyes lit <br />Boughs where those owls sat. <br /> <br />An arena of yellow eyes <br />Watched the changing shape he cut, <br />Saw hoof harden from foot, saw sprout <br />Goat-horns. Marked how god rose <br />And galloped woodward in that guise.<br /><br />Sylvia Plath<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/faun/
