Which does not feel the soul! For me, Barak,
This flower still blooms, and round it all the air
Is sweet with spirit-perfume, even to swooning.
BARAK
[Rising]
Then it is vain.—My middle age has lost
Its smell for magic. Well, then, I must be
Content to play the beggar with my prince.
CALAF
Yes, it is vain. For, still I’ll wear her rose,