Hadn't we better wait, Ilse?
Ilse.
What for?——We'll bring fresh ones. Always fresh ones. There are enough growing.
Martha.
You're right, Ilse!——(She throws a wreath of ivy into the grave, Ilse drops her apron and allows a shower of fresh anemones to rain down on the coffin.)
Martha.
I'll dig up our roses. I'll be beaten for it!——They will be of some use here.
Ilse.
I'll water them as often as I pass here. I'll fetch violets from the brook and bring some iris from our house.
Martha.