They forthwith might o’erhang it with their webs
And do the work of clouds? True, strange it is
That she comes not. She should, sheer-forced, have kissed me
Caught in the ungoverned all-compelling moment,
And then she might have vexed her lips with biting
When even at that the Ghost refused its quittance.
(To Salome.) Know you what you have ventured? Know you, woman?
I was rejoiced! D’you understand? And now—
Once on a day the Earth when I was thirsty
Spilled from my hand a goblet filled with wine