Thou art not thinking of thy mother; thou dost not love her!
George. I love her. I see mamma very often.
The Man. Where, my son?
George. In dreams—yet not exactly in dreams, but just as I am going to sleep. I saw her yesterday.
The Man. What do you mean, George?
George. She looked so pale and thin!
The Man. Has she ever spoken to you, darling?
George. She goes wandering up and down—through an immense Dark—she roams about entirely alone, so white and so pale! She sang to me yesterday. I will tell thee the words of her song:
'I wander through the universe,
I search through infinite space,
I press through Chaos, Darkness,
To bring thee light and grace;
I listen to the angels' song
To catch the heavenly tone;
Seek every form of beauty,
To bring to thee, mine own!
'I seek from greatest spirits,
From those of lower might,
Rainbow colors, depth of shadow,
Burning contrasts, dark and bright;
Rhythmed music, hues from Eden,
Floating through the heavenly bars;
Sages' wisdom, seraphs' loving,
Mystic glories from the stars—
That thou mayst be a Poet, richly gifted from above
To win thy father's fiery heart, and keep his changeful love!'