Love's Comedy

by Henrik Ibsen

SVANHILD [after a short pause].
You gaze at me so!

FALK [half to himself].
Yes, 'tis there—the same;
The shadow in her eyes' deep mirror sleeping,
The roguish elf about her lips a-peeping,
It is there.

SVANHILD.
What? You frighten me.

FALK.
Your name
Is Svanhild?

SVANHILD.
Yes, you know it very well.

FALK.
But do you know the name is laughable?
I beg you to discard it from to-night!

SVANHILD.
That would be far beyond a daughter's right—

FALK [laughing].
Hm. "Svanhild! Svanhild!"
[With sudden gravity.
With your earliest breath
How came you by this prophecy of death?

SVANHILD.
Is it so grim?

FALK.
No, lovely as a song,
But for our age too great and stern and strong,
How can a modern demoiselle fill out
The ideal that heroic name expresses?
No, no, discard it with your outworn dresses.