The bog people all are stirring
On this mewling youth, Spring night.
You can hear their chorus in the pause
Tween the Midnight and the light.
Glass-eyed Druids sing summons
To both good and bad in bed.
Salamanders dance fire illusions
For the living and the dead.
How long till the two hunderd,
Those shuttered in their rest,
Awake and grow made new again,
By hatefearlust--failed tests?
What taps forlorn on the window?
Who gazes through the fog?
Tis the young departed heiress,
the Mistress of the bog.