Ard. Berenice.
Your father's choice ... and yours.
Ber. My Ardia! Mine!
Could such a lie creep to your soul and find
No lances at the door? [Kneels, kissing her hands]
My love, my love, my love!
Let honors fail, and stars forget my name,
'Tis thou shalt walk beside me, thou my chosen!
I'll hear thy footfall on the winter steep,
And take thy hand where desert noons are white,
But close thy breast shall lie upon my heart,
Nor pillow the bitten waste, my own, my own!
[She moves from him. He rises]
Why are you silent, pale, and heaven-still?
Ard. I must be still. I've mourned my heart-walls thin.
This joy will break them. Joy to hear your voice
With love's mate-music in it cry to me.
My joy! I'll drink it all, nor lose one drop,
For I shall have no more.
Ber. No more? No less
Than life can hold!
Ard. Hear me, my lord.
Ber. You love me!
Ard. I shall not be your wife.
Ber. You're mine—all mine!
Ard. You hold your vow yet sacred, breaking it
By the sole might of love. You do not feel
The vision round you in whose light that vow
Falls like a grave-cloth from an angel's limbs.
Ah, Christ would be no bridal guest of ours,
Shut out by your heart's fear.
[He stands as if stricken]
You see 'tis true.
You listen for his sanction, and you hear
The ring of your own vow.
[He sits bowed]
You hear it now
Above your passion's chime. 'Twill fill the air
When love's mad bells grow quiet, and your soul
Asks the old question. Let me then be far
From thee, nor stay to be a claspèd fire
Eating thy side.
Ber. You'll heal me of my fear.
[Reaching his hands to her]
My fountain and my palm!