Sirens

When ships drew near, they sang so sweetly that the sailors forgot their native lands and, deprived of their wills, wasted away on the Sirens' island, which grew white with bleaching bones … The Sirens sang of their power to foretell the future. According to late Classical writers, they were fated to die when any sailor who heard their song passed by unharmed.
— Edward Tripp
We have such perfect bodies for song,
they tremble with every note,
as we throng in salty air.
We serenade sailors with blocked ears,
who ogle breasts, wings, mouths,
blink at eyelashes fluttering time.
But where, in all this, is death?
Between climb and ecstatic fall
is the place where it takes hold.
That is their fear — failure of will.
Our fear is the man, wilfully bound,
who hears but never listens:
a captive audience sailing on.
This slays us; eloquence forsakes us;
we let the sea consume us.