handofbod

I’ll tell you a story of a place I have been, Where the ocean breaks upon the shore, Of South West Cork and Skibbereen, And the strangest sight I ever saw. I rose one morning with the sun, And wandered down to the wild seas, And though alone, I felt at one, With the crashing waves and the biting breeze. I sat a while beneath stormy skies, And listened to the Atlantic foam, When from the corner of my eye, I saw a glittering golden comb. T’was on the rocks beneath my feet, Where the ocean meets the land, The rocks they formed a kind of seat, Surrounded by the golden sand. I waded out into the waves, To see what treasure I had fo

My translation of Heinrich Heine's poem Die Lorelei I do not know the meaning, Of this sadness deep inside; A fairytale from ancient times, That will not leave my mind. The air is cold as dusk draws in, Silently the Rhine doth run, The mountain peaks sparkling In the radiant evening sun. And high above in splendor, Sits a maiden most fair, Her golden jewelry shining, As she combs her golden hair. The comb in her hand is golden, And as she combs she sings a song, Sweet and wondrous is her voice, The melody powerful and strong. A sailor in a passing boat, Is seized with fierce woe, His eyes are fixed to the cliffs above, And