The Syren Poem by Joseph Skipsey
The Syren
HER harp she takes, from string to string,
Her little snowy fingers, glancing,
Into Night's ear a wild spell fling,
And all the while my heart is dancing.
Why thus, fond heart, thus dancest thou?
'A dream of old in memory lingers,
At thought of which I dance to know
That mine are not the strings she fingers!'
Monday, September 8, 2014
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5/2/2024 5:43:03 AM # 1.0.0.1119
