Anne’s Voice. I love you so.
Shakespeare. The work, the work remains.
Anne’s Voice. But when you’re old, For work too old, or pity, love or hate, For anything but peace, and in your hand Lies the crowned life victorious at last—
Shakespeare. Like the crowned Indian fruit, the voyage home Rots while it gilds, not worth the tasting—
Anne’s Voice. Then, Remember me! Then, then, when all your need Is hands to serve you and a breast to die on, Come back to me!
Shakespeare. God knows—some day?
Anne’s Voice. I wait.
As he stoops over his work again
THE CURTAIN FALLS.
January, 1920—April, 1921.