We will walk through this wood,
Rustling through dead leaves,
Crunching on fallen boughs,
I will walk first, you must follow me.
We will go like beasts on a trail.
I am a lion, you my lioness.

I will take my own pace,
You must strain your curved brittle body to keep near me.
I do this because I see in your eyes that you will talk.
O wanton! You will stab me with subtleties.
I have no head for economics. What of that?
Your eyes, your hair, your teeth, your body,
You have used against me,
And now your mind is a sharp sword to stab me.

I want to walk in this wood,
To look at the sky, and note the tracery of leaves,
And listen for an early cuckoo.
But you will have me sit beside you,
Tell you that you are a beautiful woman,
And praise your wit.

I will not tell you that you are a beautiful woman,
You are my wife!
You know well that I feel every stir of you,
Can you not remember the touch of my hand on your arm?
I will say nothing at all about your wit,
But I will tell you this,
I think it very possible, that one of our sons,
Yours and mine, will be a man of genius.

O Jezebel! I see the triumph leap to your eyes.
You love your children less than yourself.
Are you the only parent of our son?
Did not my love make you mother?
Did I not know from the first moment that I saw you,
Your splendid suitability?

That act of mine means more to life
Than all your economics.
You shall not waste your time with books!
I will have other sons of you, and perhaps a girl.
I will tell you that your daughter is beautiful.

Now look at me!
This only matters to us.
You are a woman, I am male.
I am male till the last atom of my tissue dies.—
Come now, walk!