Near harlots on the broad arcade
Under a sad and sickle moon,
I walk past fanes that seem dismayed,
The night wind sighs a subtle rune.
The harlots grab my sleeve and squeal,
While their pale necklaces of jade
Shake as the risen stars reveal
Their ashy faces half afraid.
They curse me, acting so betrayed,
As one bold girl she takes my arm,
And walks me to the shadowed shade,
Her touch is firm yet light and warm.
You are a man both sad and strong,
She whispered while the alders swayed,
Let me love you till the dawn,
Beyond the fane, down in the glade.
I’ll sing you one soft serenade,
I am a Siren some men say,
My love is real, and no charade,
Now be my hero, this I pray!
And I was helpless as a child,
She led me on, this fallen maid,
Her eyes were blue and huge and wild,
She kissed me past the colonnade.
The dawn came and my purse she took,
Yet I cared nothing but surveyed
The dewy grass. My body shook,
Then down upon my knees I prayed.