Schubert too wrote for silence: half his work That warmed the grass above him. Even so ! His music lives now with a mighty youth. Armg. Do you think yours will live when you are dead? Leo.-Pfui! The time was, I drank that home brewed wine And found it heady, while my blood was young: Armg. Strange! since I have known you Till now I never wondered how you lived. When I sang well—that was your jubilee. But you were old already. Leo. Yes, child, yes : Youth thinks itself the goal of each old life; Age has but travelled from a far-off time Just to be ready for youth's service. Well! It was my chief delight to perfect you. Armg.—Good Leo! You have lived on little joys. But your delight in me is crushed for ever. Your pains, where are they now? They shaped intent Which action frustrates; shaped an inward sense Which is but keen despair, the agony Of highest vision in the lowest pit. The best intent Grasps but a living present which may grow Are not to feed the paupers of the world. Had never any judgment in cold blood- What is fame But the benignant strength of One, transformed To joy of Many? Tributes, plaudits come As necessary breathing of such joy, And may they come to me !—Armgart. I hate your epigrams and pointed saws Whose narrow truth is but broad falsity. Armgart. -0 Life is not rounded in an epigram, And saying aught, we leave a world unsaid. The Graf. Truth has rough flavours if we bite it through. The Graf. I choose to walk high with sublimer dread I will not feed on doing great tasks ill, -0 Commonness is its own security.—Armgart. (To the Doctor.) -0 O you stand And look compassionate now, but when Death came With mercy in his hands, you hindered him. I did not choose to live and have your pity. You never told me, never gave me choice To die a singer, lightning-struck, unmaimed, Or live what you would make me with your cures- A power turned to pain-as meaningless As letters fallen asunder that once made A hymn of rapture. Armgart. -0 An inborn passion gives a rebel's right: Each keenest sense turned into keen distaste, Breathing in languor half a century.-Armgart. Armgart.-Now I am fallen dark; I sit in gloom, Remembering bitterly. Yet you speak truth ; I wearied you, it seems; took all your help Not looking at his face.` As a small symbol for a mighty sum- Armg. I was blind With too much happiness: true vision comes Only, it seems, with sorrow. Were there one Walp.—One—near you-why, they throng! you hardly stir But your act touches them. We touch afar. For did not swarthy slaves of yesterday Leap in their bondage at the Hebrews' flight, Which touched them through the thrice millennial dark? But you can find the sufferer you need With touch less subtle.. Armg. Who has need of me? Walp.-Love finds the need it fills. Leo. We must bury our dead joys And live above them with a living world. Armgart.—Dear Leo, I will bury my dead joy. Leo.-Mothers do so, bereaved; then learn to love Another's living child. |