Yonder we see it from the steamer's deck, <br />The haunted Mountain of the Lorelei -- <br />The hanging crags sharp-cut against a sky <br />Clear as a sapphire without flaw or fleck. <br />'Twas here the Siren lay in wait to wreck <br />The fisher-lad. At dusk, as he rowed by, <br />Perchance he heard her tender amorous cry, <br />And, seeing the wondrous whiteness of her neck, <br />Perchance would halt, and lean towards the shore; <br />Then she by that soft magic which she had <br />Would lure him, and in gossamers of her hair, <br />Gold upon gold, would wrap him o'er and o'er, <br />Wrap him, and sing to him, and drive him mad, <br />Then drag him down to no man knoweth where.<br /><br />Thomas Bailey Aldrich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-lorelei/
