SVANHILD [with suppressed bitterness].
I cannot thank you, for your words betray
The meaning of your kind solicitude.
You eye me as a boy a sallow, good
To cut and play the flute on for a day.
FALK.
Yes, better than to linger in the swamp
Till autumn choke it with her grey mists damp!
[Vehemently.
You must! you shall! To me you must present
What God to you so bountifully lent.
I speak in song what you in dreams have meant.
See yonder bird I innocently slew,
Her warbling was Song's book of books for you.
O, yield your music as she yielded hers!
My life shall be that music set to verse!
SVANHILD.
And when you know me, when my songs are flown,
And my last requiem chanted from the bough,—
What then?
FALK [observing her].
What then? Ah, well, remember now!
[Pointing to the garden.
SVANHILD [gently].
Yes, I remember you can drive a stone.
FALK [with a scornful laugh].
This is your vaunted soul of freedom therefore!
All daring, if it had an end to dare for!
[Vehemently.
I've shown you one; now, once for all, your yea
Or nay.
SVANHILD.
You know the answer I must make you:
I never can accept you in your way.
FALK [coldly, breaking off].
Then there's an end of it; the world may take you!
[SVANHILD has silently turned away. She supports
her hands upon the verandah railing, and rests
her head upon them.
FALK [Walks several times up and down, takes a cigar,
stops near her and says, after a pause:
You think the topic of my talk to-night
Extremely ludicrous, I should not wonder?
[Pauses for an answer. SVANHILD is silent.
I'm very conscious that it was a blunder;
Sister's and daughter's love alone possess you;
Henceforth I'll wear kid gloves when I address you,
Sure, so, of being understood aright.