jes kill me! Why de Lawd make ol’ Zurie bring dem two twins to dis heah worl’ she nebah could tell! Dey haint shell ’nuf fo’ a hummin’ bird’s stomach, an’ de pot bilin’ mad fo’ ’m dis minute! Wha’ yo’ do, yo’ black niggahs? Come in heah! I make yo’ sit still an’ do nuffin’ an’ yo’ ol’ mammy wu’kin’ hussef to def! (Picks up basket and drives children into the kitchen. Calls after them beamingly) Wha’ yo’ reckon yo’ ol’ mammy cookin’ in dat ubbin fo’ two little no ’count niggahs?
Children. (Within, scampering with delight) Cherry cobblah! Cherry cobblah!
Zu. (Shutting the door) Don’ want dat wind blowin’ on my poun’ cake! It ’ll fall sho’!
(Virginia comes out at the front door of cottage, and walks across the lawn to the shade of a bay tree where Poe lies in a hammock as if asleep. A book on the ground. She goes up softly and sits on a garden chair near him. He opens his eyes)
Vir. O, I have waked you!
Poe. No, little houri. I was not asleep. I would not give one breath of this sweet world to cold, unconscious sleep.
Vir. You are happy, cousin Edgar?
Poe. No, Virginia. This is all too delicious to be called happiness. Too calm, like the stilling of a condor’s wings above sea-guarding peaks. He flies when he is happy. When more than happy, it is enough to pause in the blue and breathe wonders.
Vir. Is it wonderful here, Edgar? It has always seemed so to me, but I have been afraid to tell anyone. It seems like a great fairy house with God in it. Is it wonderful, cousin?
Poe. You are wonderful.