Let us not so hasty go
With lambent eye and nimble toe
To sup with bugbear’s hoary host

Tarry here in fields of wine
With spirits soft, my aspect thine
And to our new love we’ll raise a toast

From dreams of geese we’ll make our bed
Our souls entwine, their bodies shed
Spinning tales until the thread is gone

Our magic hooks draw out the night
We are drowned in our purple rite
Lethe spills its banks so we forget the dawn