In Neptune’s City
Off Vincent, eighty fathoms deep,
With roofs of coral and pale shell lies Neptune’s city,
Wherein sleep the weary sailors, wherein dwell
The Weavers of the deepest spell.
Fair sisters, you have lured him far–
But at the last, Death shared the prize!
From guiding light and steadfast star your singing
turned his eager eyes.
Now wake him with your witcheries!
Cradle his head upon that breast, foam tender
and like pearls agleam,
Perchance he follows some old quest along the windings
of his dream
By ferny track and inland stream?
Perchance this mortal is not made as you are?
Take your harp of shell, all gold-embossed and gem inlaid,
And strike the strings, and break the spell.
Strike the sweet strings. Sing him awake.....
Strike the loud strings until they break!
