Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918/The Sirens' Song

by William Browne

STEER, hither steer your wingèd pines,
All beaten mariners!
Here lie Love's undiscover'd mines,
  A prey to passengers—
Perfumes far sweeter than the best
Which make the Phœnix' urn and nest.
  Fear not your ships,
Nor any to oppose you save our lips;
  But come on shore,
Where no joy dies till Love hath gotten more.

For swelling waves our panting breasts,
  Where never storms arise,
Exchange, and be awhile our guests:
  For stars gaze on our eyes.
The compass Love shall hourly sing,
And as he goes about the ring,
  We will not miss
To tell each point he nameth with a kiss.
  —Then come on shore,
Where no joy dies till Love hath gotten more.