Wind-spirits are we, wild women called,
Substance of water and air,
Of fabric whence breathed the ancient scald
Verses that seize and ensnare.
Through tempests we ride, upheaval's din,
Light as a figment of dreams,
And sometimes we flash a visioned sin,
Sometimes a virtue that gleams.
The bubbles of thought we puff at night
Enter the soul that is cursed,