A new-born power,
Whose unformed features cannot clearly show
Whether 'tis Joy or Sorrow. But the years
May nurture it to either.
WALTER.
To thee I'm bare.
My heart lies open to you, as the earth
To the omniscient sun. I have a work—
The finger of my soul doth point it out;
I trust God's finger points it also out.
I must attempt it; if my sinews fail,
On my unsheltered head men's scorns will fall,
Like a slow shower of fire. Yet if one tear
Were mingled with them, it were less to bear.
VIOLET.
I'll give thee tears.—
WALTER.
That were as queenly Night
Would loosen all the jewels from her hair,
And hail them on this sordid thing, the earth.
Thy tears keep for a worthier head than mine.
VIOLET.
I will not cope with you in compliment.
I'll give you tears, and pity, and true thoughts;
If you are desolate, my heart is open;
I know 'tis little worth, but any hut,
However poor, unto a homeless man,
Is welcomer than mists or nipping winds.
But if you conquer Fame——