Awakens not my wolf-man to the moon
For that it shines a silver discus full,
For he may rise when clouds the thickest dull
The round moon’s lustre, or when the clock strikes noon.
One sorceress alone doth have the pow’r
T’arouse the beast, and he doth her obey;
And from her side the beast doth never stray,—
So loveth him the witch and the witching hour.
Yet, by my troth, the wolf-man hath no love
For her and hers which greater is than mine:
By daylight, blackest night, or moony shine,
My love doth neither wax nor wane nor rove.
However, unlike the love the beast doth keep,
My love can’t wake, for it doth never sleep.