Stop, stop! thou outspeedest Time himself. How desperately thou rushest from the hour to the minute hand—from thence there is but a fraction of time to the second hand, which I take to be not a good token; for thou hadst but a minute ago my hand, and yet thus swiftly thou wouldst approach a second hand.
Ideal.
Shall we have no watches with second hands?
Violet.
I’ll have no merchandising. Thou a poet and a lover, and lookest at thy watch to tell the sun’s height! Alas! put up thy watch; lovers do not time themselves by watches. Thou wouldst not so at night register the moon’s height; but upon a pressing question, How high’s the moon? wouldst answer, A little higher than yonder rose-bush, if the moon rose late; or, perchance, A little higher than yonder tree-top, if the moon rose early. The sun’s as fine to me by day as the moon by night. Poetry doth not steal away at dawn of day. But thou must go; good-by for a moment. [Looks up the orchard path.] Nay, good-by for all day, for I do spy my guardian uncle.
Ideal.
Dreams do not end but oft begin at dawn. Give me leave to walk with thee at midday in the Glen of Ferns.
Violet.
High noon must be high dream-time when poets love. Await me there to-morrow.
Ideal.