And in the heart? When you are dead
I’ll carry you. Till then, lie there.
Evaïd.Will you leave the poor one dying,
Lying dying, lying dying,
Lying in the cold cold water,
Sighing, dying all alone?
Melfort.Nay, then, I’ll take you—though I die.
The moon is magical and the marsh
Peopled with voices. So—your head
Upon my shoulder: thus. So, so;