Song of the Sirens

Steer hither, steer your winged pines,

All-beaten mariners!

Here lie Love's undiscovered mines,

A prey to passengers;

[Perfumes far sweeter than the best

Which make the Phoenix urn and nest.

Fear not your ships,

Nor any to oppose you save our lips;

But come on shore

Where no joy dies till love hath gotten more.]

[For swelling waves our panting breasts,

Where never storms arise,

Exchange, and be awhile our guests;

For stars gaze on our eyes.]

The compass Love shall hourly sing,

And as he goes about the ring,

We shall not miss

To tell each point he nameth with a kiss,

Then come on shore,

Where no joy dies till love hath gotten more.