THE WIZARD WAY 
25 
 
By the hangman’s hands is thrust 
Through the wet and writhing dust, 
Never black and never dried 
Heart’s blood of a suicide. 
 
He had plucked the hazel rod 
From the rude and goatish god, 
Even as the curved moon’s waning ray 
Stolen from the King of Day. 
He had learnt the elvish sign ;   
Given the Token of the Nine :   
Once to rave, and once to revel, 
Once to bow before the devil, 
Once to swing the thurible, 
Once to kiss the goat of hell, 
Once to dance the aspen spring, 
Once to croak, and once to sing, 
Once to oil the savoury thighs 
Of the witch with sea-green eyes 
With the unguents magical. 
Oh the honey and the gall 
Of that black enchanter’s lips 
As he croons to the eclipse, 
Mingling that most puissant spell 
Of the giant gods of hell 
With the four ingredients 
Of the evil elements ;   
Ambergris from golden spar, 
Musk of ox from Mongol jar, 
Civet from a box of jade,