A saloon filled with people. Music, dancing, lights, flowers; the Bride dances—after a few rounds she remains standing—meets the Groom, draws apart from the crowd, and leans her head upon his breast.
Bridegroom. How beautiful thou art, my love, in thy exhaustion, with flowers and pearls falling in soft confusion through the masses of thy wavy hair, glowing with the rapid motion of the dance, and blushing with maiden shame!
Oh, forever and ever thou shalt be my living Poem!
Bride. I will be to thee a true wife, as my mother taught me, as my own heart teaches me. But there are so many men here—there is so much noise—and it is so hot—
Bridegroom. Go and join once more the dance. I will stand here, and watch thee as thou floatest on, as I have often gazed in dreams upon the circling angels.
Bride. I will go, since it is thy wish—but I am very weary.
Bridegroom. I pray thee, love, go.
Music and dancing.