Worrying each slight clue, each monosyllable
To give the word to Imra: the prince is near,
And Moses’ eyes shall blink before next hour
To a hundred javelins. I’ll tease him till they come.
[Aloud.] On Koelue’s tears I swam to you, in a mist
Of her sighs I hung round you;
As in some hallucination I’ve been walking
A white waste world, we two only in it.
Moses
Doubtless the instinct balked to bully the girl,