I want a woman for the adventure:
And my demands are monstrous, never to be met ...

For I want first the body that slopes like a wave of the sea toward my senses:
And whose desire is for me, my least kiss fetching the answering glow:
And whose face, pensive in the twilight, sends my mind back to the legend of women,
And whose coming and going is as the footfall of the wind on a summer's night,
And whose words drop between pauses of music gentle and piercing.

But that is not all: oh, not more than a fragment of what I demand:
I want her to be the mother of my hours of weakness:
Quick will be the intuition searching to my need and my cry:
Gentle the healing of those caressing hands, breath of that soothing voice:
Deep will be the love that makes me whole again.

Yet demand worst of all: and paradox quaint:
I want the woman who stands father to the children of my spirit:
Yea, she who comes to her fulfillment through my vision and my works:
She who impregnates my soul with seed of her spirit,
Until there grows the life that through mighty travail is born:
Our work: our child!

Ah, you will say: not a woman, but a goddess I demand:
Ah, you will tell me I am monstrous, and so will not find her:
Yet, out with the truth of it! Such are the cravings of men:
Such the woman I want for the adventure!