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The Sirens Song

 STEER, hither steer your winged pines,
All beaten mariners!
Here lie Love's undiscover'd mines,
A prey to passengers--
Perfumes far sweeter than the best
Which make the Phoenix' 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.

by William Browne
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