Lais when young, and all her charms in
flower,
Lais, whose beauty was the fateful light
That led great ships to anchor in
the night
And bring their priceless cargoes to her bower,
Lais yet found her cup of sweet turned sour.
Great Plato’s pupil, from his lofty height,
Zenocrates, unmoved, had seen the white
Sweet wonder of her, and defied her power.
She snared the world in nets of subtle
wiles:
The proud, the famed, all clamoured at her gate;
Dictators plead, inside her
portico;
Wisdom sought madness, in her favouring smiles;
Now was she made the laughing-stock of fate:
One loosed her clinging arms, and
bade her go.
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