And thy love for her will be but the thin ghost of the reality that lived for me. But Theseus——Do not leave me yet. Another hour, another minute. I have so much to tell thee, dearest, ere thou goest.
Accompaniment more and more agitated. A hautboy echoes ARIADNE'S last phrase with poignant reedy tone.
Thou knowest, I have not yet sung thee that little song thou lovest to hear of evenings; the little song made by the Aeolian Poetess whom Apollo loved when in her teens. And thou canst not go away till I have sung it. See! my lute. But I must tune it. All is out of tune in my poor jangled life.
Lute solo in the orchestra. A Siciliana or slow dance, very delicate and simple. ARIADNE sings.
Song
Let us forget we loved each other much;
Let us forget we ever have to part;
Let us forget that any look or touch
Once let in either to the other's heart.
Only we'll sit upon the daisied grass,
And hear the larks and see the swallows pass;
Only we live awhile, as children play,
Without to-morrow, without yesterday.
During the ritornello, between the two verses.
POET
(to the YOUNG DUCHESS, whispering)
Madam, methinks his Highness is unwell. Turn round, I pray you.