Svanhild, you only,—you, I did believe,—
Well, it is past, that dream, for ever flown.—
[She goes to the summer-house and looks out; he follows.
You listen—?
Svanhild.
To another voice, that sings.
Hark! every evening when the sun’s at rest,
A little bird floats hither on beating wings,—
See there—it darted from its leafy nest—
And, do you know, it is my faith,—as oft