Drunk with self hood like a wave
Plunge into the stormy lave;
Who commanded thee to sit
With thy skirts about thy feet?

Let the tiger be thy prey;
Leave the mead and flowers gay,
Out toward the mountain press,
Tent thee in the wilderness.

Cast thy strangling rope on high,
Circle sun and moon in sky,
Seize a star from heaven’s sphere,
Stitch it on thy sleeve to wear.

Selfhood’s wine, as I have guessed,
Tart and bitter is to taste,
Yet regard thy pain within–
Drain our desperate medicine