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.