AH, where are the echoes of gladness Which dwell in my listening mind? What meaneth the whisper of sadness, Like the moan of the autumn wind? I am chained by an often told story, Come down from the olden time When fairydom saw its glory, A haunting, saddening chime. The air is still and darkling, And silently flows the Rhine; The mountain peaks are sparkling, Where sunset rays yet shine. A strangely beauteous maiden Sits high on the grim rock there, Her arms are with rich gems laden, She combeth her golden hair. With a golden comb she is combing, And sings an enchanted song, And wondrously through the gloaming That melody floats along. Then a wild weird sorrow amazeth The boatman in gliding skiff, While upward alone he gazeth He sees not the fatal cliff. The wave-bells a knell are ringing, For the Rhine his prey hath won, And that with her syren-singing Hath the Sprite of the Lorely done. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: WILLIAM AND EMILY by EDGAR LEE MASTERS DEFEAT AND VICTORY by WALLACE RICE INVITATION TO A PAINTER: 2 by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM PSALM 121 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE |