The liquid spells of the Earth
Are chanted in the dark with mirth;
Naked round the jagged stone
In the moonlight on the loam,
The dancers, silvered, sparkling, wet
Turn as shadows, pirouette;
Leaping, stamping, joy-inspired
They circle round the dying fires;
And though the night is cold with mist,
They spin with heat and leap and twist;
Glistening wet with perspiration
Possessed by songs of invocation;
For by rite of sacrifice
The village pays the Oat God's price;
The singing mounts in expectation,
The Maiden shows no hesitation,
Honored, feted, filled with pride,
Calmly lays the Virgin Bride;
A nymph amid the blowing mist
Which lifts and shakes her billowed shift;
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem