Roz Kaveney (rozk) wrote,
Roz Kaveney

And tonight Heinrich Heine brings you...


I don't know why, or what it means
that I get so depressed
that some old story haunts me.
I'm suddenly obsessed.

There's a cold breeze, it's twilight
but in the last sunshine
the mountain tops still glimmer
beside the river Rhine

A pretty girl is sitting-
how did she get up there?-
in nothing but her jewels
combing her golden hair.

Her comb is made of gold too.
She sings an eery song
It's really quite compelling.
The river flows along.

The boatman in his dinghy
seized by the melody
ignores the rapids, stares at her
so absentmindedly.

His boat tears out its bottom
He sinks beneath the waves
The Lorelei has killed him
Her song makes men her slaves.

I shudder at the speed with which that one came.

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