PHŒBUS (watching Fleur-de-lys go out).
She speaks the truth: my heart is sad
Even when she is near—
The one I love, the one who fills my soul—
Alas! she is not here.
Exquisite creature,
To you my love!
Oh, dancing shadow,
My sweet-voiced dove,
Absent, yet with me
Wherever I move!
She's as bewildering and sweet
As is a nest 'mid rushes,
Sweet as a rosebud crowned with moss,
Sweet as the joy which sorrow hushes.
Humble child and virgin proud,
Soul that's pure though free!
Voluptuous ardors sink abashed
Before thy chastity.
In the dark night she comes,
An angel from the skies;
Her forehead veiled by shadows,
Flames darting from her eyes.
I see her face forever—
Now bright, now dark it seems;
But strangely—'tis in heaven
I see her in these dreams.
Exquisite creature.
To you my love!
Oh, dancing shadow,
My sweet-voiced dove,
Absent, yet with me
Wherever I move!
[Enter several lords and ladies in gala dress.