Then you are bound for hell.
MARCOMIR.
[between his teeth] But you are safe!
GENEVIVA.
Keep me recluse from love, as men from war,
You spoil my faculties. Where will you go?
MARCOMIR.
To any coast you have not trod, wherever
The flowers are different from the flowers you wear,
To some Italian convent. Geneviva,
I am not framed to see you minister
To other men; but when long years are passed,
It may be in a fresco, I shall find
Some figure of a lady breaking bread
To mendicants, and kneel and pray to her
That she may bless me also: but till then ...
[covering his eyes]
O God, you shall not tempt me, though I feel
Just how your hair burns in a fiery wreath
Above your brow, and how your eyes are soft
With blue, and deeper blue, as through the hills
The valley stretches azure to the close.
You shall not tempt me, though I almost hear
Your bosom taking record of your breath,
And I could sit and watch that tide of life
Rising and falling through the lovely curves,
Till I was lost in ecstasy.
GENEVIVA.
Oh, hush!
But then you love me. It was in a fit ...?