This at once her pride and her disgrace,
To wear for everyone a different face,

To be as false as Satan and as true
As God to every mother’s son of you!

Last night you thought her virtuous and mild
And loved her gently as you would a child…

This morning you beheld a sibyl’s face
Caught sleeping in your innocent embrace

And by tomorrow night, as sure as sin,
Some other arms she shall be sleeping in

And he, awaking, who had thought her wild
And arrogant, shall find a sleeping child!