High on the rock, above the waves,
Coaxing the sailors to water filled graves,
The siren sings her solo part.
Neither the rhythm nor yet the sound
Are the waters in which the bearer is drowned
As testimony to her art.
She sings far more than a sailor can hear.
He listens once with a cynical ear
And once with an innocent heart.
Poets and writers desire such skill:
That sirenlike we work our will
On every reader's ear and heart.