I gather myself from this wavy water.
The night is bright, and hungry, I do wake.
The air is fresh, and I my prey shall take.
So thus I sing, my voice as God’s own altar,
Enshrining lust and thirst—songs without falter.
The wind doth rise. A man comes to the lake!
His blood is real, his stiffness as a rake:
Aroused is he. And I, as God’s own daughter,
Do offer him the world, and stolen sex,
And treasures prefect as one wish’d to see,
My palace, too; if mine he’d only be,
And in this shrunken sea with me,
He’s reign as king. I plead. But no, says he.
…He turns away. Moonlight, off lake, reflects.