Douce-cœur.
Thy coming caused Queen Sorrow to depart;
What right hast thou to drive my friends from me?
Love.
I came to bring thee swift deliverance,
She laid a spell upon thee which in time
Had turned thy heart to unresponsive stone.
Douce-cœur.
She brought me peace and sure oblivion
Of all this dark and weary world around.
Love.
Art thou so sure, Princess, the world is dark?
Douce-cœur.
So sure? Have I not heard the children weep?
Is not my heart torn with their piteous cries?
We live, and round us lies their sea of tears,
A mighty sea that could engulf a realm.
Love.
I met a Child outside thy Palace once.
His dress was ragged, but he smiled at me,
And in his hand he held a purple flower.
I knew it for the magic flower of Dream.
I asked him "Art thou happy?" and he said
"I'm mostly hungry; sometimes I am cold;
And there are stones and thorns that hurt my feet,
But while my Flower lives I am quite content.
And I have friends too, in the Palace there;
Laughter and Dance they come and play with me."
I met that Child to-day, Princess. His face
Was white and pinched, and down his baby cheeks
The tears were running, "See, my Flower has died,
And Dance and Laughter have been sent away.
Joy too is gone. Queen Sorrow reigns at Court."
Even the children now can play no more.
He never knew before the world was dark.
Art thou so sure, Princess, the Child was wrong?
Douce-cœur.
Have I not heard bereavèd mothers weep?
Love.
There thou dost touch a chord in ignorance.
Thou canst not guess the strength of Motherhood,
The hopes, the joys, the passionate regrets.
She who has borne her child close to her heart
Has lit a star in Heaven that lights her way.
I kneel by them in their Gethsemane
And teach them how to weave immortal wreaths
Out of the sweetest flowers of Memory;
For them the sun still shines behind the clouds,
Art thou so sure the world is wholly dark?
Douce-cœur.
There echo in my ears the groans of Toil,
Of those who labor on from year to year
Until they sink beneath their weary lot.
Love.
Toil is the destiny of man, Princess,
And none may question the Supreme Decree.
Perchance through toil alone man may redeem
A past that is forgotten. Who can tell?
And there is still some aftermath of joy
In labor well achieved, some dignity
In toil accomplished. If the way is hard
And seeming endless, those who seek for me
Will often find me singing at their side.
Mine is the Brotherhood of Sympathy.
But thou hast banished Song, in silence now
The toilers have to go upon their way.
Art thou so sure, it was all dark before?