Say these words again,
And yet again; never fell on my ear
Such drops of music.
VIOLET.
Alas! poor words are weak,
So are the daily ills of common life,
To draw the ingots and the hoarded pearls
From out the treasure-caverns of my heart.
Suffering, despair, and death alone can do it:
Poor Walter! [Kisses him.
WALTER.
Gods! I could out-Anthony
Anthony! This moment I could scatter
Kingdoms life halfpence. I am drunk with joy.
This is a royal hour—the top of life.
Henceforth my path slopes downward to the grave—
All's dross but love. That largest Son of Time,
Who wandered singing through the listening world,
Will be as much forgot as the canoe
That crossed the bosom of a lonely lake
A thousand years ago. My Beautiful!
I would not give thy cheek for all his songs—
Thy kiss for all his fame. Why do you weep?
VIOLET.
To think that we, so happy now, must die.
WALTER.
That thought hangs like a cold and slimy snail
On the rich rose of love—shake it away—
Give me another kiss, and I will take
Death at a flying leap. The night is fair,
But thou art fairer, Violet! Unloose
The midnight of thy tresses, let them float
Around us both. How the freed ringlets reel
Down to the dewy grass! Here lean thy head,
Now you will feel my heart leap 'gainst thy cheek;
Imprison me with those white arms of thine.
So, so. O sweet upturnèd face! (Kisses her.) If God
Told you to-night He'd grant your dearest wish,
What would it be?