Ay, even the Angora goat-milk cheese
Is scarcely half such dainty fare,
Anitra, ah, as thou!
[He hangs the lute over his shoulder, and comes forward.]
Stillness! Is the fair one listening?
Has she heard my little song?
Peeps she from behind the curtain,
Veil and so forth cast aside?—
Hush! A sound as though a cork
From a bottle burst amain!