Blazing torches, starry night,
Walpurgian moon, shining bright–
Walking through the forest, ancient map in hand,
A traveler passes through this cursèd land,
Beset by never-ending blight.

Wind in branches, making moan,
Trees above him list and groan,
A frightful sight he’d be, if any saw him now,
A-coming to fulfill the long-forgotten vow–
But no one sees–he is alone.

Creatures stir upon the hill,
Birds are shrieking, long and shrill,
And yet the lonely traveler presses ever on
Seeking that which is forever gone
But which Time shall never kill.

Works of virtue, works of sin,
All works merge together in
The inkiness of sprawling space above
That covers all on this disturbing evening of
Long-worshiped Hallowmass’s twin.

Blazing torches, starry night,
Walpurgian moon, shining bright–
Within a forest clearing, the unnerving figures stand,
Gazing up at Via Lactea‘s shimmery band,
As if praying to its light.