Par. How shall I say? Love comes, my mother says, Like flowers in the night—reach me those violets—It is a flame a single look will kindle, But not an ocean quench. Fostered by dreams, excited by each thought, Love is a star from heaven, that points the way And leads us to its home—a little spot In earth’s dry desert, where the soul may rest— A grain of gold in the dull sand of life— A foretaste of Elysium; but when Weary of this world’s woes, the immortal gods Flew to the skies, with all their richest gifts, Love staid behind, self-exiled for man’s sake!
Ing. I never yet heard aught so beautiful! But still I comprehend it not.
Par. Nor I. For I have never felt it; yet I know A song my mother sang, an ancient song, That plainly speaks of love, at least to me. How goes it? Stay— [Slowly, as trying to recollect.
“What love is, if thou wouldst be taught, Thy heart must teach alone,— Two souls with but a single thought, Two hearts that beat as one.
And whence comes love? like morning’s light, It comes without thy call; And how dies love?—A spirit bright, Love never dies at all!”
And when—and when— [Hesitating as if unable to continue.
Ing. Go on.
Par. I know no more.
Ing. (Impatiently.) Try—try!
Par. I cannot now; but at some other time I may remember.