Alberich

Takes me, really, and bringing me back into the depths,
Calls -- a long, low, resonant hum.
Here are the brine and the waters; hear I Woglinde singing her song:
"Rock, cradles of the deep, and call, wondering waters, who brille
With an unknown heat." This heat, were it I, I were to dissolve
In the extant flux from the wastes of time to their final pier,
Recalling in me the perpetual mystic underlying what is,
Gold-clad herald of the shining star who circulates
Between the vision and the waking dream. But I am not;
Of another race, coursing in my circulation Eden and redemption,
Neither wanted nor received, so the wanderer who watches
For a distant shore. Hear the course of the circulating homes
And the tide of the revolving night, inextricably bound
By the sinking luminaries and yet apart, one foot in the grave
And one by the cusp of the dawn -- because Venus, tutelary deity, holds me
Away, and it is my ever secret provenance to lust, shape of
And shaping the Earth's golden forms.