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THE HOUR-GLASS
To turn our thoughts for their own ends to frenzy.
Why do you put your finger to your lip,
And creep away?
[Fool goes out.
(Wise Man sees Angel.) What are you? Who are you?
I think I saw some like you in my dreams,
When but a child. That thing about your head,—
That brightness in your hair—that flowery branch;
But I have done with dreams, I have done with dreams.
Angel
I am the crafty one that you have called.
Wise Man
How that I called?
Angel
I am the messenger.
