Poe. Wine! wine! O, spirit that bendest from pitying clouds, a mortal thanks thee! Quick, mother, these drops of strength will give her back to us!
Mrs. C. She sleeps, my son, which is ease more precious than these drops can give.
Poe. (Taking bottle) Give it to me!
Mrs. C. Edgar, Edgar, do not wake her!
Poe. Lenore, Lenore, out of thy dream, though ’t were the fairest ever blown to mortal from Elysium! This will put thee to such smiles that dreams—
Mrs. C. Be quiet, for God’s sake!
Poe. Quiet! ’T is a word for clods and stones! You ’d hold me from her when my hand brings life? (Rushes to cupboard and gets a glass which he fills)
Mrs. C. Just a little, Edgar. Too much would—
Poe. She shall drink it all, by Heaven! I will save her!
(Mrs. Clemm sinks to a chair, helpless and sobbing. A knock at the door which neither hears. Enter Helen. As Poe turns to approach the bed he faces her, stares, and lets the glass drop shivering)