Why am I cursed with mortal women
And yet further cursed without them
So solid in their dark forbidden flesh
They crush mere men with cruel haste

I retain my structure but cannot approach
My sylvan bones held together
With dark incantations
Seem to reject the advance
While yearning for their touch

Where are the faerie ladies
From the stories
I could know them with a glance
Pure, ethereal and true
The spirit of intellect pouring from their lips
Quenching the deepest thirst
Forming pools in which to dip
In the middle of the night

But all I see is mortal women
Worrying the tattered bones
Of houses, chariots and wines
And men to grind to formless paste
With which they make their bread