Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 1).pdf/444

Stiver.

What you, a lay, profane outsider here!

Falk.

No matter, still the battle-flag I'll rear!
Yes, it is war I mean with nail and tooth
Against the Lie with the tenacious root,
The lie that you have fostered into fruit,
For all its strutting in the guise of truth!

Stiver.

Against these groundless charges I protest,
Reserving right of action—

Miss Jay.

                             Do be still!

Falk.

So then it is Love's ever-running rill
That tells the widow what she once possess'd,—
That very Love that, in the days gone by,
Out of her language blotted "moan" and "sigh"!
So then it is Love's brimming tide that rolls
Along the placid veins of wedded souls,—
That very Love that faced the iron sleet,
Trampling inane Convention under feet,
And scoffing at the impotent discreet!
So then it is Love's beauty-kindled flame
That keeps the plighted from the taint of time
Year after year! Ah yes, the very same
That made our young bureaucrat blaze in rhyme!