KE@AAH IIB
BORTSCH
Witch-moon that turnest all the streams to
blood,
I take this hazel rod, and stand, and swear
An Oath—beneath this blasted Oak and bare
That rears its agony above the flood
Whose swollen mask mutters an atheist’s
prayer.
What oath may stand the shock of this offence:
Witch-moon of blood, eternal ebb and flow
Of baffled birth, in death still lurks a change;
Andall the leopards in thy woods that range,
And all the vampires in their boughs that glow,
Brooding on blood-thirst—these are not so
strange
And fierce as life’s unfailing shower. These die,
Yet time rebears them through eternity.
99