and night skies

The Hag

by Robert Herrick

The hag is astride
     This night for to ride,
The devil and she together;
     Through thick and through thin,
     Now out and then in,
Though ne'er so foul be the weather.

     A thorn or a burr
     She takes for a spur,
With a lash of a bramble she rides now;
     Through brakes and through briars,
     O'er ditches and mires,
She follows the spirit that guides now.

     No beast for his food
     Dare now range the wood,
But hush’d in his lair he lies lurking;
     While mischiefs, by these,
     On land and on seas,
At noon of night are a-working.

     The storm will arise
     And trouble the skies;
This night, and more for the wonder,
     The ghost from the tomb
     Affrighted shall come,
Call’d out by the clap of the thunder.


“We both look around us. I don’t think we’re in space; I can breathe just fine. And I don’t feel like floating away—though I am teetering on the edge of hysterical. So much power. So many stars. My mouth tastes like smoke. “Are you holding back at all?” I ask him.

“Not consciously,” Snow says. “Is it too much?”

“No. It’s like you completed the circuit,” I say, gripping his other hand. “I feel kind of drunk, though.”

“Drunk on power?” he asks. ― Rainbow Rowell, Carry On