In the hour of the fading sun Old songs can be heard Over the moors in the ash and oak Where the spirits heed their words The lone hymns that were weaved and spun Before the age of fern Felt on the air by the hands of those Whose crying hearts still yearn Orphic rites of the mystic Communion with the Gods The heart is pulled in rapture By the currents of the ocean The fragrance of cedar passes By lantern lit devotion The pulse of the clamoring drum Mimic the flames growing faster As the spirits of night listen And the owls surrounding answer