The Lorelei Reformed by Agnes Louise Wathall Tatera

Don’t set your will to cross the stream, my love,
when I stand opposite and waiting.
The thinning, thicking mists swirl from my eyes.
My lips are traitor to my words, and baiting.

Our hands seem close enough to touch, my love,
but waves ride treacherous in the narrows
and if you trick a path from rock to rock
you’ll find them mossy stepping-stones to sorrows.

So kiss me only with your eyes, my love–
then turn your back on love’s confusion.
I take no dark delight in drownings, love:
my song is powerless, and my spell illusion.


Date: 1985

By: Agnes Louise Wathall Tatera (1907-2004)

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