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,
