She called him—strangers till that hour—To praise a man who sought his power;
He
What is my fate, when fate in you is bound?Who is my shield, if shield in you be found?
Soothe thou thy voice with tenderness—for IAm heart in tumult, stirred by voice on high;
I am as night that found in thee my light,And drove the dread from conscience' inmost night;
Hast thou known passion, sister, ever yet?How I would wish it—but reproach me not;
She
Thou know'st not, brother, her whom thou dost see—She never knew love as a joy set free;
That is a light within my thought and heart,That slays illusions, piece by piece, apart;
He
Within the voice, beloved, lies a senseThat yields the heart to love and deep laments;
Now like the dove's soft cooing on the breeze,Now like the skylark's yearning when at ease;
She
Would thou but knew the voice, the secret deep—Renunciation in it—yet longing's keep;
Leave meeting's songs to their suspicious art—Thy dreams alone—the mirror of the heart;
She kept her silence wilfully, nor would reply,Whene'er he spoke — that he might pass her by!
Outside their hours she'd call after long delay,Feigning to him she'd despaired and turned away.
He
However thou hast willed repulse—I stillWatch for thy voice when darkness blinds mine eye;
I lingered long in thy neglect—and soVoice's note is balm unto the grieving soul;
She
Thou art a bird that flies above the hills,Seeking fresh fare from every feast that fills;
All that thou wished stands plain for thee to see,While I—the soul—shall live for memory;
Thou yearn'st to possess all of life and being,While I in chains am bound, my freedom fleeing;
He
All that I wished is dear and near to me—Unique, rejoicing, singular and free;
Each day that passes I await a voice,Or fire from anguish—still I would rejoice;
Thou art the heaven-pureness of my soul—Meanings a poet wearies to extol;
Alas—the voice embodied in my mindIn fancy—while thou stay'st a form confined;
Grant me a smile from thee someday, I pray,And promise me—for promises can sway;
She
Why do thine ears attend unto my voice?In them the yearning of distress and choice;
From mine own purity, my tone, my grace,I grant devotion in ascension's space;
Praise God—I took from His own sheltering careWhere passion waned, love's flame burned sweet and fair;
He
To speak of love torments my heart anew—Wilt thou not fan the embers' glow in view?
Thou art a melody, a grove, a shade—A life wherein my smile is softly laid;
Thy gentle voice enclosed each tender stream,And gave me, thirsting, heaven's cooling dream;
Send forth thy spirit that I may pour wineTo cool the heart—or quench the flame's design;
She
In vain, O brother, thou pursuest my face—I am a star that shines in heaven's space;
I send forth light—a glance, a word—afar,Like radiance glimmering through the spaces' bar;
And thus thou seest me always, ever near—No sly seduction stirs my heart sincere;
That is my soul of radiance thou behold'st—It lends my light to wanderers in the cold;
It is the echo wandering through the crowd,And hearts that grieved yet never wept aloud;
He
Speak not with logic wherein lovers die—Grant me sweet passion, beautiful, on high;
Give more—and I shall worship God aboveWho clothed thy beauty in transcendent love;
I fear for my poor heart the day we part—The day of parting stretches like a dart;
She
If thou desire of me a passion true,Accustom soul to die for love of you.
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