During the singing Nourmahal has come slowly out from the left, walking along the broad top of the wall until, coming to the tower, she drops down on the floor by the railing of the turret and listens, her veil falling from before her face. When the song has ended, Nasrulla comes forward and approaches the little tower. He leads a horse, a white horse with its tail dyed red in the Persian fashion.
Nourmahal. You turn the gray of the poplars in the darkness into the silver of running water.
King Nasrulla. The dawn is waiting under your veil. I see now only the morning star.
Nourmahal. I am but the moon, and I must not be seen when My Lord the Sun comes.
King Nasrulla. The Lord of the Sky rises to look on the gardens where the nightingales have been singing.
Nourmahal. But when he finds that the nightingales are silent, he passes to other gardens.
King Nasrulla. Following the song, as I follow the lisp of spring in your voice, the flutter of the wings of birds in the branches when buds are swelling.
Nourmahal. It is the flutter of wings and the song that you care for; it is not the bird.
King Nasrulla. It is the song of the bird that tells me where I shall find the bird herself. It is the oasis lifted up into the sky that guides the thirsty traveler across the desert.
Nourmahal (rising in agitation). When I am your queen, will you follow the voices of other nightingales?