Pagan Heart In a blue-black, silken, star-swept sky Venus rises, cold and high, Like a galleon riding storm-tossed clouds The Lady Moon glides in her winter shrouds, And below in the Wildwood where shadows prance Is a circle of folk in a merry dance.   Our chants take flight on the screech owl's wing And the air is alive with the praise we sing, For the Pagan spirit is old and free With a heart like an oak and a soul like the sea. Through the menhirs we weave in the steps of yore To honour our Gods and Godesses' lore.   The swish of black robes is cloaked in the dark By the holy balefire's mystical spark, There's a glint of a dagger in the ritual flame As the priestess invokes the Lady's name,  And embraced by the trees round this ancient site The witches give thanks on this sacred night.   From this time forth 'til the Earth's last day We that follow the Old Path will gather to pray, We will sing out charms 'til the frosty dawn And gather our herbs at the break of morn. As a new sun shines o'er the greensward glade The dew will sparkle and our footprints fade, But the magickal aura of our worship and rite Will continue to linger far into the light.