How wasted he is! He is like a thin ivory statue. He is like an image of silver. I am sure he is chaste as the moon is. He is like a moon-beam, like a shaft of silver. I would look closer at him. I must look at him closer.
THE YOUNG SYRIAN
Who is this woman who is looking at me? I will not have her look at me. Wherefore doth she look at me with her golden eyes, under her gilded eyelids? I know not who she is. I do not desire to know who she is. Bid her begone. It is not to her that I would speak.
I am Salomé, daughter of Herodias, Princess of Judæa.
Back! daughter of Babylon! Come not near the chosen of the Lord. Thy mother hath filled the earth with the wine of her iniquities, and the cry of her sinning hath come up even to the ears of God.
Speak again, Jokanaan. Thy voice is as music to mine ear.