Hush now and listen to the black rose lullaby
Sung in times gone by
Seven be the number written in the sky
For it is a dirge, this black rose lullaby
Before the deep thoughtful winter boon
Again came the harvest and the autumn moon
The yew tree bends to the loon
Myth, and magic and the cosmic law soon
Passes judgment on scholars, dreamers and scorn
Ice and fire, cattle in the thorns
Earth and water, the bull by the horns
Spells woven amid the trees born.