HER lute hangs shadowed in the apple-tree,
While flashing fingers weave the sweet-strung spell
Between its chords; and as the wild notes swell,
The sea-bird for those branches leaves the sea.
But to what sound her listening ear stoops she?
What netherworld gulf-whispers doth she hear,
In answering echoes from what planisphere,
Along the wind, along the estuary?
She sinks into her spell: and when full soon
Her lips move and she soars into her song,
What creatures of the midmost main shall throng
In furrowed surf-clouds to the summoning rune;
Till he, the fated mariner, hears her cry,
And up her rock, bare-breasted, comes to die?
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Comments2Wow, "A Sea-Spell" really paints a vivid picture, doesn't it? Filled with wonder and a touch of dark intrigue. But who exactly is the fated mariner? Could he be someone specific? Thoughts anyone?
"HER LUTE HANGS SHADOWED... SUCH VIVID IMAGERY!"