Explore "Lais" by Helen Hay Whitney on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
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.