The Lorelei
by Heinrich Heine


I cannot tell why this imagined
Sorrow has fallen on me
The ghost of an unburied legend
That will not let me be.

The air is cool, and twilight
Flows from the quiet Rhine;
A mountain alone in the high light
Catches the faltering shire

One rosy peak half gleaming
Reveals, enthroned in air,
A goddess lost in dreaming
Who combs her golden hair.

With a golden comb she is combing
Her hair as she sings a song;
Heard and reheard in the gloaming
It hurries the night along.

The boatman has heard what has bound him
In throes of a strange, wild love.
He is blind to the reefs that surround him,
Who sees but the vision above.

And lo, the wild waters are springing -
The boat and the boatman are gone...
Then silence. And this with her singing,

The Lorelei has done.

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