7/24/2019 Gerald Gardner

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O Moon that rid'st the night to wake,

Before the dawn is pale,

The hamadryad in the brake,

The satyr in the vale,

Caught in thy net of shadowsWhat dreams hast thou to show?

Who treads the silent meadows

To worship thee below?

The patter of the rain is hushed,

The wind's wild dane is done,

Cloud!mountains ruby!red were "ushed

#bout the setting sun$

#nd now beneath thine argent beam

The wildwood standeth still,

%ome spirit of an anient dream

Breathes from the silent hill&

With!oddess Moon, thy spell invokes

The #nient Ones of night&

One more the old stone altar smokes,

The (re is glimmering bright&%attered and few thy hildren be,

)et gather we unknown

To dane the old round merrily

#bout the timeworn stone&

We ask no *eaven, we fear no *ell,

+or mourn our outast lot,

Treading the maes of a spell

By priests and men forgot&