I gaze at the stars by the great dying oak, to the realm of the gods I am no longer lost
in the gathering of night on raven wings I glide to the three far worlds of land sea and sky.
the ancient white owl and voices from the wells of sun, moon and stars The ergot- trance -tells
in soothless disdain, in the cauldron of Awen adder stones awaken and dream weaver thread
In the chamber of the grave I must soon take my leave I am the last of my kind and who would believe
of the great lord Arthur the dark Avalon wolf who fought and was slain enchanted to the end
Bewitched by the lake of dusk coated raven, by the grove of tall oaks and viper shaman to ride on the black swan, to the tor of Avalon to rest above all men great dragon of Albion.