Song of the Sirens

by William Browne 1592-1643

"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,
Were 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 will not miss
To tell each point he nameth with a kiss."

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