Be that your last word. I shall sleep to-night.
Mer. This is not our last meeting?
Mil. One night more.
Mer. And then—think, then!
Mil. Then, no sweet courtship-days,
No dawning consciousness of love for us,
No strange and palpitating births of sense
From words and looks, no innocent fears and hopes,
Reserves and confidences: morning's over!
Mer. How else should love's perfected noontide follow?