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Gray shadows of the oaks like snakes contort
Beyond this haunted fen across the fell,
Where winds malign whisk in a subtle spell,
Where risen spirits on the air cavort.
Then from the fen I see my tall consort,
A witch girl lovely and exceptional
Who holds me now in thrall and will compel
That I this eve become her lone escort.
She takes my arm in hers and we move on.
She’s full of scents like lime and pungent myrrh,
And on her wrists and ankles golden bands.
Her lips are painted with sweet cinnamon.
I’ve now abandoned all, in love with her,
I walk these ancient, haunted, midnight lands.