The Youth of THE WINE HORN sings On:
"Pretty grey moth,
Where the strange candles shine,
Seeking for warmth, so desperate—
Ah! fluttering dove
I bid thee win
Striking my dark mandolin
The crimson flame of love."
SEELCHEN. [Gazing enraptured at the Inn] They are dancing!
As SHE speaks, from either side come moth-children, meeting and fluttering up the path of light to the Inn doorway; then wheeling aside, they form again, and again flutter forward.
SEELCHEN. [Holding out her hands] They are real! Their wings are windy.
The Youth of THE WINE HORN sings on;
"Lips of my song,
To the white maiden's heart
Go ye, and whisper, passionate.
These words that burn
'O listening one!
Love that flieth past is gone
Nor ever may return!'"
SEELCHEN runs towards him—but the light above him fades; he has become shadow. She turns bewildered to the dancing moth-children —but they vanish before her. At the door of the Inn stands LAMOND in a dark cloak.
SEELCHEN. It is you!
LAMOND. Without my little soul I am cold. Come! [He holds out his arms to her]