Clad in the moon’s silver gleaming,
And kissed by the cold of the earth,
You are the high priests of the forests,
While the warrior pines stand guard and
lift, menacingly, spear shafts to the moon.
Holy in astral fires of the Goddess,
Lighted for broken things that seek your shade to die,
Horned Cernunos, master of the dance of life,
Intones in you his ageless canticles of death and rebirth:
"Renew! Renew! Renew!"
Speechless orators of the Old Ones,
Beloved by poet-druids and elves,
Beneath your high templed domes of shade
Our star-songs softly caress the fading night
And echo in bells of jasmine.
Silent keepers of stories unread,
Drenched in the light of stars
Born in the dim eternities of aeons,
Do you ponder the dust of endless ancestors
Lost to the memory of men?
Lift crowns veiled in sparkling mist
To the heaven's salmon blaze;
Fling wide resplendent mantles
Of lush greens and soft grays,
To greet each dawn’s glory.
Spirit-halls for gatherings of souls
Crossing at last the Bridge of Days,
Beauty sleeps around you upon a couch of perfume,
Jeweled by dew, vestured in drifting shade,
Serenaded by the muted melodies of marsh and sea.
Mansions of moss in the day’s divine unveiling,
Stand beside yellow rivers lazily seeking the sea.
Beneath your cloistered arches the Lord of Morning
softly steals in robes of gold and rose,
and one-by-one puts the stars to sleep.