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!