A Witch's Chant

Rest thy head on my pillow, weary warrior of old-

Long was my waiting and bitter my years.

And I’ve poured thee a drink made of winds soft and cold,

And the dance of the snowflakes, and a lover’s vain tears.

Close thy eyes, my bold soldier, in this cold wintry night,

While the cruel snow devours all that’s peaceful and glad.

But I’ve woven a blanket made of youthful delight,

And the chant of the forests, and the full moon’s warm thread.

Come, forget all thy worries, give thy fears to me,

Let me cast them away to be slain by the snow.

And I’ve wrought thee a weapon made of storms from the sea,

And the flight of the eagles, and the fire’s deadly glow.

Come, sleep now, my brave one, I will watch over thee,

And sing thee a lullaby in this cold wintry night

Made from sweet-scented flowers of a lonely white tree,

And the love that I bear thee, and my fire’s tempting light.

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