WALPURGIS EVE, by K. A. OppermanThe crickets chirp their plaintive tune
To charm the mystic afternoon,
While through the amber mist the moon
Gleams wanton, wild, and white.
The faeries dance their roundelays,
Glimpsed only by the vagrant gaze
That scans the florid sward, where haze
Of dreams enchants the sight.
When twilight falls the witches ride
Their brooms to sabbats far and wide,
Each one to be a devil’s bride
And dance around the fire.
They skip around the sickly flames,
All naked, shrieking ancient names.
A goat-god, Master of the Games,
Foul offspring soon will sire.
