Our Lady of Troy
19
Is all and end of our eternity.
Nay, death has had no hostages of me;
I hope no morning from him and I fear
His darkness nothing. It is time. I wait.
[The storm drops suddenly. In the hush the fire grows brighter, and the figure of Helen suddenly becomes a glow of light.]
Fritz
Look! Lo! She moves—her hands are raised—she speaks.
Helen
Yea, I am she whom men call Helen, maid
Of Troy. Long years the beauty Paris loved
Has been a stir of corn-flowers by that sea
Where memory is a tide and summers fade
Into the past like shadows.
Faustus
'Tis a trick!
A dream! A phantasy! The dead are dead.
These are no words! A shadow—
