Then shall your lips, fresh and balmy,
To my smiling, passion whisper!
Anitra.
[Lies down at his feet.]
All thy words are sweet as singing,
Though I understand but little.
Master, tell me, can thy daughter
Catch a soul by listening?
Peer.
Soul, and spirit's light and knowledge,
All in good time you shall have them.
When in east, on rosy streamers
Golden types print: Here is day,—
Then, my child, I'll give you lessons;
You'll be well brought up, no fear.
But, 'mid night's delicious stillness,
It were stupid if I should,
With a threadbare wisdom's remnants,
Play the part of pedagogue.—
And the soul, moreover, is not,
Looked at properly, the main thing.
It's the heart that really matters.
Anitra.
Speak, O Master! When thou speakest,
I see gleams, as though of opals!
Peer.
Wisdom in extremes is folly;
Coward blossoms into tyrant;
Truth, when carried to excess,
Ends in wisdom written backwards.
Ay, my daughter, I'm forsworn
As a dog if there are not
