The casual doer of some small amiss.
So you lay helpless at my feet, imploring:
“O raise me, how and where is all the same!
Give me the power of singing and of soaring.
No matter at what cost of bitter blame!”
Falk [clenching his fists in inward agitation].
Heaven be my witness—!
Svanhild.
No, you must be told:—
For such a childish sport I am too old.