English Fire (Marina's Middling; hey Jade Edition)

Seven brides lay out seven sins Seven seas buck and heave for me From Orient gatehooks to R'lyeh Abydos through Thessaly Sirens thread their notes through the stern But now I quit the game I ache to slip back To bracken and fern Where Herne and his wild huntress name the same Now the tides are turning Shouldering off the dark The purges of those road-worn years Drain down to brass And all I want is One more run Back to the bed of Her English shores The wind worried the mill sails like teeth on bone Eyes flashed in the black seams of trees Mist clamped hard on the hollowed-down lanes When Brigantia poured her weather into me From Imbolc to Bealtaine Lughn