The air is cool and things are darkening,
And peaceful flows the river alongside mountain,
On top I can see, sparkling,
The source of the river like a fountain.

The fairest maid is whining,
In greater glory of her beauty there,
Her golden jewels are shining,
She combs her golden hair.

With a golden comb her hair is tended,
And she sings a song so sad,
It casts a spell on the river where it wended,
And yet it is turning your heart so glad.

The boatman listens, and look at him
Wild-aching is what she gives;
He sees nothing but the maiden that will make him swim,
He sees not reef or cliff.

At last the waves overcame
The boat and the boatman's cry;
And this is what became
Of he who listened to the mermaid and wondered why.

Stax international poetry convention