To the Siren

Upon the silver strand, this wake of night,
Paradise and peril on the shore,
to see thy beauty thou shan't needeth sight
though it warms thy bosom to its core.

Where only waves can tread on sailors' bones,
thy voice does draw me nearer unto this,
The beauty of thy ethereal tones,
projected into gentle sonic bliss.

I know, upon arrival, I should wreck
upon the rocky shore you stand above.
My passion then dissolved, thrown from my deck,
I die a martyr's death, but not for love.

For thy beauty, though it not appeal to sight,
is twice as deadly, twice as dark as night.