Ai! ai! anarch! Freyja!

FREYJA

He yearns for me. Am I not beautiful?

Am I not holy? Wherefore should I fear?

All living things love Freyja; gods and men,

Anses and elves and helpless animals.

Where I walk glittering, there lovers press

And consecrate their eyes and beat their hearts

Like moths against the moon. And shall I go

Nor smile once kindly on him? Even the moon

Is kinder to her loves.

ODIN

He craves no smile

From thee, nor ever smiled into the face

Of love since his birth-hour. He lusts for thee.

FREYJA

Why should he not? Hath Odin never lusted?

What mind that knows the lust of intellect

Shall mock desire? Ah! Who that ever yearned,

Yearned not in ignorance?

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