LAIS

You are white as the moths of Twilight, You are secret as mist and dew, And your down-dropped eyes Are eternally wise, Strange sins have wrought their hue.

Mother of men and women, They are ghosts, not men you have bred; In infinite scorn Their bodies were born While their souls were worse than dead.

We are what your lips have made us, Empty, and bitterly old; Our faith has lied, Oh, barren bride, And the fires of the world are cold.