His prophet promises to speak to thee!
Obey it, my dear lord, and thou shalt lose
This curse that burdens thee. This tiny spot
Of white that mars the beauty of thy brow
Shall melt like snow; thine eyes be filled with light.
Thou wilt not need my leading any more,--
Nor me,--for thou wilt see me, all unveiled,--
I tremble at the thought.
NAAMAN:
Why, what is this?