Merrick:
I wonder, is the star come closer still?
Sollers:
O, close, I know, and viciously heading down.
Vine:
She was so silver! and the sun had left
A kind of tawny red, a dust of fine
Thin light upon the blue where she was lying, —
Just a curled paring of the moon, amid
The faint grey cloud that set the gleaming wheel
Around the tilted slip of shining silver.
O it did seem to me so safe and homely,
The moon quietly going about the earth;
It's a rare place we have to live in, here;
And life is such a comfortable thing —
And what's the sense of it all? Naught but to make
Cruel as may be the slaughtering of it.
He breaks down again.
Sollers:
It heats my mind!
He begins to walk up and down desperately.