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.


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