Trudging through a gloomy glade,
From foggy mists in woodland shade.
Beneath a bright mid summer twilight,
Devoid of all earthly passion to ignite.
I seek the thing to rouse my soul
Bring blazing fire from ashen coal.

Treasured quarry I will have you soon
I shall hunt the muses with my harpoon.
Six maidens, I spied through the glen.
how sweetly then the ladies beckened
bathed in over-flowing lunar gleam,
half remembered in a peculiar dream.

The maidens lurked in shaded cluster.
Radiant ecstasy, bathed in golden lustre.
Psyche sang in lyrical harmony,
Amidst the din forest Cacophony.
Unmoving Mania, lost in trance,
As shadows quivered and danced.
Pandemonia wild as shrieking wind,
and numb depresion shrank and timid.

Until a Sound sharp and serene
cut through the colourful forest scene.
The Piercing beauty of a single harp string
a strange note that rang beyond hearing.
Nightly guests came that evening,
A Laurel reath each receiving.
Men as beasts and beats as men
One by one led into the merry den.

Guests took their places, each in turn
A merry meeting to adjourn.
They all sat round a hewn tree stub,
mead overflowing from every cup.
Cakes and ales dressed the table
how vivid now this strange fable.

Low madness sat upon a green toad stool
at the head of this sanguine feast of fools.

Art by Gustave Dore.