Between the windy, swirling fire
and all the stillness of the moon
sweet witch, you danced at my desire
turning some weird and lovely rune
As in the sabbat’s ancient round
with strange and subtle you went
and toward the heavens and toward the ground
your steeple-shapen hat was bent
as in the sabbath’s ancient round
and toward the heavens and toward the ground
Upon the earth your paces wrought
a circle such as magicians made
and still some hidden thing you sought
with hands desirous, half afraid
Your supple youth and loveliness
a glamor left upon the air
whether a stronger magic there
What darkling and demonian lord
in fear or triumph, did you call?
Ah! Was it then that you implored
with secret signs equivocal
Your fingers, on the smoke and flame
moved in the mysterious conjuring
you seemed to call a silent name
and lifted like an outstretched wing.
Sweet witch you conjured forth my heart
to answer always at you will!
like merlin, in some place apart
it lies enthralled and captive still.
