Slumbering upon the throne of moon-caressed ice,
I have supped deep the draught of white vapours,
Shimmering upon the gleaming garlanded marble,
single strand of glimmering gossamer...
Beneath the vaults of shadow-haunted tombs,
I see the fire that burns like the black heart of night.
In brooding and sombre visions I hear cries,
Enthralling cries 'neath the frost moon rising
I hear the slithering of forces that seethe serpentine in black guffs,
In the dark and silent places...
The whisperer in crystal speaks in dreams,
Of silken shadows, and the softest breath of dark enchantment.
Of ancient cyclopean temples, raising jewelled spires to the stars.
The is witchcraft in the moon,
And brooding silence reigns over the woods.
My storm-forged sword (stained with the blood of a thousand slain foes),
Ensorcelled by eon-veiled incantations.
Dark wizzards' spells entwine me in ravening shackles,
And black roses draw my blood with thorns as sharp as serpent's tooth...
I fall into the rapturous embrace of sloe-eyed witches,
The moon gleaming upon their ivory bosoms,
And descend into the still, icy waters of the lakes.
Beyond the veil of North-Winds, I await the emissaries of the tyrant,
The wind whispering across the everlasting snows...
My slumber is as light as a wolf's.
Serpents coil entempled ramparts
Of sunken jewelled cities,
Wolves of winter's moon are roaming
The temples of the heather gods.