Venus.
Then you would leave me? Serpent if I were,
My coils should press in dolorous delight
Thy straining bosom, and my kiss were death!
Death! Dost thou live, Tannhäuser? Sayest thou still:
“None but the dead can know the worth of love!”?
Tannhäuser.
Still. I am not in any sense estranged.
I yearn for thee in the first hour of spring,
As in the dying days of autumn. I