Trembling among the young leaves. Now I feel
As when we went a-Maying in the woods
Together and alone. Pluck me a flower.
There at the window one peeps in.
(Launcelot brings her a rose. She caresses his hand.)
So sad?
So sad still? Come into the golden sun.
Look, every small shoot thrills up to the light.
Smell the sweet rose upon its thorny briar.
Launcelot