by Walter de la Mare (1873-1956)
Up on their brooms the Witches stream,
Crooked and black in the crescent’s gleam;
One foot high, and one foot low,
Bearded, cloaked, and cowled, they go.
‘Neath Charlie’s Wain they twitter and tweet,
And away they swarm ‘neath the Dragon’s feet.
With a whoop and a flutter they swing and sway,
And surge pell-mell down the Milky-Way.
Betwixt the legs of the glittering Chair
They hover and squeak in the empty air.
Then round they swoop past the glimmering Lion
To where Sirius barks behind huge Orion;
Up, then, and over to wheel amain,
Under the silver, and home again.