TRUTH: Man's falsities have made the lips of beautiful women Poisonous, as the bite of a seq)ent.
POET:
My sisters, so madly merry;
With lamps you have blotted out the stars.
You have made the cool, kind night to shiver with your
laughter ; Your mad and reckless laughter; Your mad and reckless songs. See, against your windows and against the night, The stars showing through his skull, Stands Death.
He too is fiddling, singing, laughing. His laughter is madness and he sings his own relentless
song. Can you not hear it, my sisters, higher than your own? He sings the death of your souls, And not yours only, but mine; For we are one.
I cannot separate myself from you, nor you from me. In the endless Past, we were one ; And in the endless Future, we are one. You too, should be the Mothers of the Race ; You are the absolute moulds of the Future.
There is one waiting for you, my helpless sisters,
Just around the corner.
His lean fingers are playing with a shroud,
And on his grinning head he wears a withered wreath.
They call you Daughters of Joy,
But on your pillow, no matter who else lies there,
Lies a dread head with cavernous eyes.
A sharp sword is in your bed,
The sword of the Fleshless One, the Reaper.
He reaps not your death alone, but mine;
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