Seven brides serve me seven sins Seven seas writhe for me From Orient gates to R'lyeh Abydos to Thessaly And Sirens sing from stern But now I cease to play For I yearn to return To woodland ferns Where Herne and his wild huntress lay
Now the tidal are turning Spurning the darkness The great purgations of distinguished tours Are but stills in time To the thrill that I'm Once more Heading to the bedding!
