Lips on those lips, that thirst to suck the breath,
The heart’s blood, into theirs, till eyes grow dull,
Till lips be lips no longer, and only a skull
Roll from your feast of death,
O sated Sirens!
But what if it be that fond perfidious Voices
With different music lure
Even us who have cast far from us the fables of old?
If the pride of our quest undo us, and they enchant us
Simple as those lost mariners, but no longer