O Toyo. Moaning or was it singing?
I would it were singing
For singing is sweeter
On the lips of those dying.
Kashiku. Dying?
O Toyo. When those whom we love are passing—
Even under our hands are passing—
And our love weans them from life
And our kisses suck out the blood-life,
Then would we touch them no more,
Then would we kiss them no more,
But a power greater than we
And a power that we fear
Forces us on in our love-killing.
Kashiku. There is in your voice a vibration, as even the winds in the pine-tops
When, in the autumn, they echo the summer's death-song;
There is in your eyes a strange light as if the soul of another
Looked out from your curtaining lashes and dimmed the sweet light there abiding.
Oh, mistress, surely you are different than what you once were.
O Toyo. [Crosses C. slowly.] Even now comes the hour and the struggle
And I do the bidding of that which is in me.
How I hate the feel of his flesh
Quivering under my lips
And the loathsome taste of the blood-drops
Thick on my lips that would soothe him and cannot.
Kashiku. Can anything soothe more than thy lips,
More than the lips that love him?
I cannot understand the words of your saying.
You are happy and tearful all in a moment,
Your soul seems a sky full of sunshine and clouds.
[Coming to her.] Even now as my hand touches you, you are trembling.
Is it the cat that crept upon us
Whose shape still affrights you?
O Toyo. Thou hast said it—My soul is as thou sayest.
My dreams are sweet and again bitter.
Once came a dream horrible above all dreams.
Kashiku. What dream, my lady?
O Toyo. The night when you found me there on the floor.
Do you remember?
Kashiku. Well. You were all distraught and the bosom of your gown
Was torn open and you clutched your throat
As if you were wounded there. But there was no mark.
And you let wild words fall from your lips
And none knew their meaning.