I don’t know what it could mean,
Or why I’m so sad:
I find,
A fairy-tale, from times unseen,
Won’t vanish from my mind.
The air is cool and it darkens,
And quiet flows the Rhine:
The tops of the mountains sparkle,
In evening’s after-shine.
The loveliest of maidens,
She’s wonderful, sits there,
Her golden jewels glisten,
She combs her golden hair.
She combs it with a comb of gold,
And sings a song as well:
Its strangeness too is
And casts a powerful spell.
It grips the boatman in his
With a wild pang of woe:
He only looks up to the heights,
Can’t see the rocks below.
The waves end by
The boat and its boatman,
That’s what, by her singing,
The Lorelei has done.
