There is a lake in the heart of the forest
Where my sisters swim at sunset,
An island in the middle of the lake,
A temple on it, rising from wild herbs,
And all that – the forest, the lake, the temple –
Hides on this island, behind these pines.
But you saw only the cliffs,
The caves on the water’s edge.
Call yourself a traveller, but you saw nothing.
I sang as you sailed past.
I sang and I saw your body answer.
You crossed the straits tied to the mast.
What is so good about that weaver,
That spider-woman sitting on her dreary patch
Of low lying land?
I would seduce you over and over,
I’d travel with you. I’d fight your wars.
Call yourself a hero, uxorious, glorious,
But what is courage
If you order your men to seal their ears?
And what is love
If it needs ropes to hear a song?