Singing afar his strain of heavenly hope,—
So wear thy years away, ah, tranquilly!—
Thou art so young—All this will come to seem
A dream of yesternight—
Yvette
Dost thou forgive?
De Vardes
And at the last when Death shall take thy hand,
Smile at the due caress, and lightly come—
If I am I, I’ll meet thee on the strand!