Buzen. Aye. Soundly as though deep in saki.
Prince. And none roused?
Buzen. They were as dead
From shortly after the hour of ten
Until dawning.
Awakening they knew they had slept
Yet knew not when the poppy was thrown in their eyes.
Even as one man none knew
And were deep amazed and full of shame.
Each night it was the same.
Prince. [Angrily.] So, they slept.
While I, on my couch,
Through the hours writhed—
Writhed and twisted—
Weakening ever—
Not sleep, yet dreaming—
Oh, horrible dreams.
Ruiten. Of what were these horrible dreams?
What was their substance?
Prince. [Mystified at the memory.] There would come a soft stealing—
As of draperies hushed and lifted
For silence in walking;
Like soft, silken draperies
Wrapped about stealthy limbs.
Then a shape clothed for sleep
As women are clothed—
Sinuous and vague in movement,
Then taking form slowly—
The form—a lie!—a lie! [Covers his face and goes upstage.]
Ruiten. The form?
Prince. [Turns.] O Toyo!
Ruiten.
Buzen. [Rubbing their hands.] Ah!
Prince. [Comes down R., Ruiten and Buzen are together a little L.]
Came she to me—
Leaned o'er me—
Caressed me
Yet soothed not.
Her lips to mine—
Her lips but not sweet.
Then here on my throat
Would she place them
And all my life seemed to smother—
Out of me flowed the life-blood
In a deep stream
Like a tide
Forced by the gods,
Against its will,
To flow far away and yet farther.