The Moon Is Like A Scimitar, A Little Silver Scimitar, A-Drifting Down The Sky. And Near Beside It Is A Star, A Timid Twinkling Golden Star, That Watches Like An Eye. And Thro' The Nursery Window-Pane The Witches Have A Fire Again, Just Like The Ones We Make, And Now I Know They're Having Tea, I Wish They'd Give A Cup To Me, With Witches' Currant Cake.