Falk.
No, I only brood,—
Svanhild [with thoughtful sympathy].
You seem to be two natures, still at feud,— Unreconciled—
Falk.
I know it well.
Svanhild [impetuously].
But why?
Falk [losing self-control].
Why, why? Because I hate to go about With soul bared boldly to the vulgar eye, As Jock and Jennie hang their passions out; To wear my glowing heart upon my sleeve, Like women in low dresses. You, alone, Svanhild, you only,—you, I did believe,— Well, it is past, <g>that</g> dream, for ever flown.—
[She goes to the summer-house and looks out; he follows.
You listen—?
Svanhild.
To another voice, that sings.
Hark! every evening when the sun's at rest,
A little bird floats hither on beating wings,—
See there—it darted from its leafy nest—
And, do you know, it is my faith,—as oft
As God makes any songless soul, He sends
A little bird to be her friend of friends,
And sing for ever in her garden-croft.
