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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

DEATH AND THE FOOL, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Behold, the distant hills stand clothed with light
Last Line: Close beside them a figure which closely resembles that of claudio.]
Subject(s): Death; Dead, The


DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

DEATH
CLAUDIO, a nobleman
HIS SERVANT
CLAUDIO'S MOTHER
A YOUNG GIRL abandoned by CLAUDIO
ONE OF CLAUDIO'S EARLY FRIENDS Departed Spirits

CLAUDIO'S HOUSE. TIME—THE TWENTIES OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY
CLAUDIO'S study furnished in the Empire style. In the background, right and
left, are large windows; in the centre a glass door leading out to a balcony,
from which some wooden stairs descend to the garden. On the left is a white
folding door; on the right a similar one, concealed by a green silk curtain,
leads to the bedroom. By the window, on the left, stands a desk with an armchair
before it. Along the window-pillars are glass cabinets filled with curios.
Against the wall, on the right, stands a darkened shrine, carved in Gothic
style; above it hang ancient musical instruments, and a portrait by one of the
Italian Masters; it is almost black with age. The color of the wall paper is
light, almost white. Stucco with gilt decorations.

CLAUD. (sitting by the window. The evening sun shines in).
Behold, the distant hills stand clothed with light,
As though enameled by the sunset haze,
And o'er them, hanging, alabaster white,
A crown of clouds with golden tips ablaze.
Thus painted masters, in the days of yore,
The bed of clouds, that their Madonnas bore.
The shades of drifting clouds, a soft, deep blue,
Pass o'er the rocky walls of the abyss,
While shadows of the crags, of darker hue,
Cloak the broad valleys 'neath the precipice,
Changing the prairies' emerald green to gray,
And paler colors of the waning day;
While peak to peak flashes the sunset's fire.
How closely knit to mine own heart's desire
Are they who dwell upon those hillsides gaunt,
Whose meagre acres, tilled and reaped by hand,
Give rest from labor, and supply each want!
All wild and wondrous, ranging o'er the land,
The winds of early dawn which barefoot come,
Laden with all the fragrance of the heather,
Arouse them from their sleep; the wild bees hum,
And round about them is God's bright, warm weather.
Their very life is one with Nature's self,
And Nature is the goal they strive to reach.
The weariness of toil brings rest itself,
And thus they live, finding rewards in each.
Down from the vault of Heav'n, the sun's great ball
Rolls headlong, plunging in the distant waves,
And sinks from sight amid the crystal caves;
Behind the trees the twilight shadows fall,
The wind blows hot, as from a fiery wall,
Built high along the shore. There cities stand;
A tall ship is the cradle of their young,
Rocked by some Sea-nymph's wave-encircled hand.
A bold, high-minded race, crafty of tongue,
That sails o'er distant, wonder-teeming seas,
Seas of vast silence, where no keel has been;
High swells the bosom of the angry seas,
Then falls, calmed of its wrath. 'Tis so I've seen
Life's blessings stretched afar, and all Life's grace,
While Life's great yearning stared me in the face.
And then, as I approach what seemed so near,
The world grows empty, and forlornly drear,
My whole existence but a hollow dream;
Old passions, but half-felt, and tears unshed
Hang o'er this house, and o'er these streets, and seem
The ghosts of possibilities long dead,
And stir again that yearning without rest
Which drives me forward on my fruitless quest.
[Standing by the window.]
The neighbors light their lamps, and round them glow
Their narrow lives, within their narrow walls,
Where joy and sorrow alternating flow,
With each sensation that man's heart enthralls;
Wherefore they deem their souls are closely bound,
And loudly do they mourn some absent friend.
Or, if some one of them receives a wound,
They comfort—word I ne'er could comprehend!—
For some vain phrase to them communicates
All that their sorrow and their grief demands.
They do not batter at sev'n fast-closed gates
Forevermore, with bruised and bleeding hands!
What know I of men's life, or yet of them?
I seemingly have stood there with the rest,
Not feeling, only knowing it at best,
And could not make myself a part of them.
I've never plunged, nor lost myself therein.
When others give and take, I stand apart
With untouched spirit and with empty heart,
And from the lips of those I held most dear
I've never drawn Life's essence sweet and clear;
I've never staggered down the lonely road,
Shattered by sorrow, sobbing as I went.
If through my heart some breath of Nature flowed,
Or through my being some slight tremor sent,
My over-active brain gave it a name,
Nor could my wakeful memory forget;
And swift comparisons by thousands came,
Killing all confidence and joy; nor yet
Did suffering stay behind for me to grasp,
Dismembered though she was, disfigured, torn,
Pale from long thinking, and by study worn.
E'en this against my breast I'd gladly clasp!—
Gladness from sorrow's self I could have drawn;
With its great wings, Grief barely brushed my face;
I quailed beneath the touch, and could not mourn,
For discontent alone took sorrow's place!
[Starting up.]
My fruitless meditation's checked by night;
Strange are the thoughts of men 'twixt dark and light.
But I am weary, and must go to bed.
[The servant brings a lamp and goes out again.]
The lamp's pale glimmer brings to light again
My study, filled with relics of the dead,—
Vain splendors, by whose help I thought to gain
That life on which I'd set my yearning mind,
Although the road thereto I could not find!
[Standing before the Crucifix.]
O Christ, how many, many men have knelt
Before Thine ivory feet, together nailed,
Praying to know those strange, sweet fires that melt
Our hearts deep in our breasts! Yet each has quailed
When lonely chills instead of fire forth came,
And gone his way in anguish, pain, and shame!
[Before an old painting.]
And thou, who star'st at me, thou, Gioconda,
Painted against a background of deep wonder!
Thy body shines as though a soul were hid
Behind those lips, that smile so bitter-sweet,
Or 'neath thy glowing eye's dream-heavy lid;
Just so much of this life thou teachest me
As by my questions I have taught to thee!
[Turning aside to a cabinet.]
Ye goblets, to whose silver brim have hung
The lips of many, in joy absolute,
And ye, whose strains from many a heart have wrung
Emotion's deepest pangs! O cup! O lute!
How gladly would I change my lot with you,
And in the past become imprisoned too!
Ye shields of wood and bronze, that years have worn,
Where imagery of strange, confused designs
Of toad and angel, griffin and gay fawn
With quaint old birds, and ropes of fruit combines
To form a mass of soul-perplexing lines!
And yet, ye strange devices, ye have known
The throb of life, with all its changing moods,
As strange as though thrown up by some wild floods!
Then, like a netted fish, Form took you for her own!
Vainly have I pursued you, vainly sought,
By your elusive subtleties too firmly caught;
For when I learned your soul's capricious art,
Piercing its mask, mine eyes, grown dim by thought,
No more could find the world's great doors,
And hidden from me were its life and heart.
I stood encompassed by your fickle bands
Like Harpies, pitiless, whose ruthless claws
Uproot each new-sprung flow'r, that stands
In simple beauty by a stream's cool bed.
So lost was I in art's dim, tortuous maze
That I saw light through eyes that were as dead,
And through dead ears heard what was round me said.
I dragged this curse along my weary ways,
An unsolved riddle, yet not quite unguessed!
With half-felt gladness, and with little strife
I lived my days, most like a book at best,—
A book half-understood, yet half-unknown,
Whose meaning but to living men is shown.
And that which caused me joy or grief in life,
Ne'er seemed to me to be its very self,
But more a vision of a life to be,
The hollow likeness of another self.
And so, while phantoms mocked my baffled feet
I've floundered through a life of love and woe,
Consuming, but not tasting sour and sweet,
Haunted by dreams that come and never go!
Then I arose and looked Life in the face:
The swiftest-footed do not win the race,
Nor by the bravest is the battle won;
Joy brings not laughter, nor do woes bring tears;
Vain answer at vain question loudly jeers!
Above the sombre threshold, one by one,
Intricate dreams arise, where Joy seems all,
Yea, wind and wave, and fills each passing day!
Rudely deceived I am, yet, Wisdom's thrall,
Consumed by empty pride, I go my way
Of sad renunciation, nor complain.
The people round from questions now refrain,
And think me just an ordinary man!
[The servant brings in a plate of cherries which he puts on the table,
and starts to close the door to the balcony.]
CLAUD. Leave the door open. What affrights thee so?
SERV. Your Grace would scarce believe me if I told.
(Half to himself, as if in fear.)
They've hid themselves within the summer-house.
CLAUD. Who's hidden?
SERVANT. Pardon me, I know not, Sir.
A crowd of people—an uncanny lot.
CLAUD. Beggars?
SERV. I cannot say.
CLAUD. Then lock the door
That opens from the garden on the street,
And go to bed, and trouble me no more.
SERV. That's what affrights me so; I've locked the door But—
CLAUD. Well?
SERVANT. They're sitting in the garden now!
On yonder bench where the Apollo stands,
Close by the curbing of the well there sits
A couple in the shadow. Another one
Is sitting on the Sphinx; we cannot see
Him; for the hedge of yew stands close between.
CLAUD. Are they all men?
SERVANT. Some men, some women too.
Not like poor beggars, but in ancient style,
Such as one sees in etchings, are they clad.
Yet men they cannot be, who sit and stare
At one, as if they stared at empty space
In such a gruesome way, with cold, dead eyes!
No, they're not men. Yet, be not angry, Sir!
For nothing in the world would I go near!
Pray God, that in the morning they'll be gone!
With your permission, I will bolt the door
And sprinkle holy water on the lock.
I've never seen such men as these before;
And men have no such eyes as these folk have!
CLAUD. Do what thou wilt. Good night.
[For a few moments he walks up and down the room thoughtfully. From
behind the scene sound the longing and touching strains of a violin; at first,
faint and distant; the music draws nearer and nearer until, at last, it rings
deep and full, as if from the next room.]
CLAUD. Ha, I hear music!
Ay, and it speaks most strangely to my soul!
Has that man's foolishness disturbed my heart?
And yet, methinks, I never heard such tones
Drawn from a violin by mortal art.
In deep and throbbing strains sweet and wistful
It echoes in mine ears with power divine;
It seems like endless hope at Pity's shrine,
And promises relief from all my pains.
Now from the ancient walls, so still and stern,
It flows, and fills my soul with peaceful light,
As did my tender Mother's fond return,
My mistress', or some friend's, long lost from sight;
It raises thoughts that cheer me, and bring joy.
This music takes me back to childhood days.
So stood I in the springtime once, a boy
Who thought to find all Life in pleasant ways.
And then the wish to pass all bound'ries came,
And swept my soul with dim, unknown desire;
And days of wandering came, with passion's flame,
That set the whole wide world and sea afire;
The roses blossomed, and the bells chimed bright,
As though rejoicing in this new-sprung light.
A thrill of life passed through each living thing,
As striving to draw near to him who loved!
How stirred was I in soul, how deeply moved
To be a living part of Life's great ring!
Then I approached, whereto my heart did guide
That surging stream of love which feeds us all.
Contentment filled my mind and kept it wide,
Which now not e'en my dream can understand.
Ring on, sweet music, still a little while,
And touch my heart with thy mysterious hand,
For then my world seems brightened with a smile,
And life, entranced, re-lives its earlier years;
Then, flame on flame, the fires of joy glow bright,
And melt the stones of life, and dry my tears.
Old and confusèd Wisdom, hoary white,
Which bows my back beneath his heavy weight,
Loosens his strangling clutch, charmed by the sound
Of childish ignorance, which holds him bound
In its simplicity so deep and great.
From far away, the peal of many bells
A life scarce thought of in our dreams foretells,
A life, where Form in all-importance lives,
Austerely kind in what it takes and gives!
[The music stops suddenly.]
The music stops which deeply moved my mind,
Wherein both God and man I seemed to find,
And he who worked this spell in ignorance,
Some beggar-minstrel, holds his cap for pence!
[Standing by the window on the right.]
'Tis strange, he is not standing in the street!
Perhaps I'll see him from this window here.
[As he goes to the door on the right the curtain is silently thrown
back and DEATH stands in the doorway. He holds the violin bow in his hand,
while the violin hangs from his belt. He looks quietly at CLAUDIO who steps
back in horror.]
CLAUD. A horror seizes me, a damp, cold fear.
Since thy strange fiddle sounded then so sweet,
Whence comes this awful dread at seeing thee?
My throat is dry, my hair stands all on end.
Away! For thou art Death! What would'st of me?
I fear thee; go away! I cannot scream;
My grasp on light and life fails like a dream!
Go, go! Who called thee, or who let thee in?
DEATH. Arise, and cast this fear inherited
Aside, I'm not a skeleton of dread;
Of Dionysus' and of Venus' kin
I am; the God of human souls stands here.
Thou'st felt my touch when some warm summer night
Through golden rays, a leaf fell dead and sere,
My breath passed by thee in the waning light,
For 'twas the wind that breathes on all ripe things.
When thy emotions fluttered up to fill
Thy soul, with warm and beating wings,
And when thy heart stopped, with a sudden thrill
At finding this strange monster kith and kin,
When in Life's dance thou stood'st against thy will,
And took'st as thine the world and all therein,
Each time thou'st faced some all-important hour
Which made thy mortal body quake with fear
I've touched thy inmost self, and standing near,
I've breathed upon thy soul with secret power.
CLAUD. Enough, and though unbidden, welcome, friend!
[After a short pause.]
But pray, why camest thou, and to what end?
DEATH. My coming means but one same thing to all.
CLAUD. And yet my life's thread is not nearly gone,
For mark me well: ere any leaf doth fall
It is decayed, and its life-sap is drawn.
Not so with me; I've never lived my day.
DEATH. Yet like all others thou hast gone thy way.
CLAUD. As flowers, growing by a river's flow,
Are by the sombre waters swept away,
My youthful days slipped by; I did not know
That time was called our life's all glorious day.
And then I stood outside life's fast-closed door,
Aghast with wonder, and with yearnings wrung,
Hoping that 'mid the storms' majestic roar
It would burst open, by some power sprung.
It came not so to pass; but once inside
I stood unconsecrate and unaware,
Helpless to breathe my deepest wish in prayer,
Shadowed by fate, from which I could not hide,
My soul distraught, and in the twilight lost,
Afraid, disturbed in my heart's innermost.
Half-heartedly, oppressed in mind and mood,
Strangely imprisoned in the wondrous whole,
True fire I never felt inflame my soul
Nor Life's great waves rush surging through my blood!
That God I never found upon my quest
With whom we must do battle to be blessed.
DEATH. To thee was given as much as to all men:
An earthly life, to live in earthly wise!
For, in the heart of each, a Spirit lies
Who with his breath establishes again
A ruling in this chaos of dead things,
By which each one his garden is to sow,
Wherein his power, his pain and joy must grow.
Woe then if I'm the first this news that brings!
Man binds, and man is bound; wild lonely hours
Bring these discoveries. The tears of sleep,
And utter weariness corrode your powers.
Still willing, but oppressed with yearnings deep,
Though half refused, with aching, long-drawn breath,
And while warm life still throbs within each vein
Ye fall into my arms, for I am Death,
Yet each of you is ripe.
CLAUDIO. Not so with me!
I am not ripe, so let me still remain!
Let me live on; no more will I complain.
Firmly I'll grasp the sod of earth; for see,
A great desire to live cries out aloud,
And Terror's touch has torn the veiling cloud.
At last I feel! O leave me, let me live!
I feel it by this crumbling of all walls.
To earthly things my heart I now can give,
And thou shalt see, no more dumb animals
I'll think this world of men, no longer dolls!
Their every sentiment shall touch my heart;
In grief and sorrow I will take a part;
With all my being Faith I'll strive to learn,
Since on this life, through Faith, we gain our hold.
So will I live, and so my life I'll mould
That good and evil rule me turn by turn
With equal power to make me laugh and burn.
Then will these lumps of clay take fire and live;
Along Life's road, real living men I'll find;
No more with silent sneer I'll take and give,
But will be bound, and mightily will bind!
[As he sees the unmoved countenance of DEATH he speaks with rising
agitation.]
Believe me, 'twas not so before; for see,
Think'st thou that I have loved or hated? Nay!
Not e'en the seeds thereof have been in me;
Illusions were they, empty words' vain play!
It's true! I'll prove it! Here these letters, see!
[He throws open a drawer and takes out packages of old letters.]
The words and vows of passion, Love's complaint!
But thinkest thou that I could ever know
What she felt; what my answers seemed to paint?
[He throws the packages at DEATH'S feet. The letters scatter on
the floor.]
There hast thou this love-episode's whole life,
Where I, and only I, swept to and fro
As following the throbs of inner strife,
Now good, now bad, I throbbed with them again,
With every noble impulse scoffed to shame!
There hast thou it! the rest is all the same,
Devoid of meaning, joy, or any pain,
And where true love or hatred never came!
DEATH. Thou fool, thou wicked fool, before thou die
I'll teach thee to revere the life thou leav'st!
Stand silently, and mark with careful eye
That those, whom thou but barren clods believ'st
Were filled with Life's great joy, or bitter sting,
And thou alone wast void of everything!
[DEATH plays a few notes on his violin as if to call some one forth.
He stands by the bedroom door near the front of the stage on the right.
CLAUDIO stands by the wall on the left in the semi-darkness. From the door on
the right comes the MOTHER. She is not very old and wears a long dress of
black silk, with a cap of the same material, and a white ruche which fits
closely around her face. In her delicate, pale hands she holds a white lace
handkerchief. She comes quietly from the door and walks silently about the
room.]
MOTHER. How many sad, sweet sorrows I breathe in
With this room's atmosphere, for half my life
On earth hangs here like lavender's faint breath,
So delicate, yet dead. A mother's life
Was mine; one-third was pain, one-third was care,
Anxiety one-third. Unknown to man
Are these? [Standing by the chest.]
And is the corner's edge still sharp?
He struck it once, and made his temple bleed.
Ay, ay, he was a little child, but wild,
He ran so fast, and was so hard to hold.
And, oh, that window! I have stood there oft
And listened in the night to hear his step,
Aroused from sleep by fond anxiety
When clocks struck two, then three, and it was dawn,
And still he had not come! How oft—But he,
He never knew it! I was much alone
As well by day as night. My hands, indeed,
Could water flowers, dust, and polish brass
Until it shone, throughout the dragging day,
But all the time my mind had naught to do.
A blank wheel in the circle spins around
With undefinèd fears, and secret dreams
Of pains but dimly felt, that are a part
Of that strange and mysterious holiness,
Which is the secret of maternity,
And interweaves itself with Life's great woof!
But I may now no longer breathe this air,
Oppressive, sweet, yet sadly nourishing—
The air of life that's passed—for I must go,
And go for evermore!
[She goes out by the middle door.]
CLAUD. Ah, Mother, come,
DEATH. Hush, be still!
Thou canst not bring her back.
CLAUD. Ah, Mother, come,
And let me, humbly kneeling by thy side,
Express with these my lips, close pressed together,
Yet trembling, trembling in their silent pride—
Let me but speak! Ah, hold her firmly! Call her!
She did not wish to go. Could'st thou not see?
Why dost thou force her, Horror? Answer me!
DEATH. Leave me what's mine; it once was thine.
CLAUD. O God,
I did not feel it! Withered, barren, sere,
What have I ever felt, that my whole heart
Reached out and yearned to her, when she was near?
As in the presence of divinity
She made me shudder, and there ran through me
Man's longings, man's desires, and all man's fears!
[DEATH, unmoved by his complaints, plays an old Volkslied. Slowly a
young girl comes in. She wears a simple dress, with large flowers on it, sandals
with crossed laces. Around her neck she has a bit of fichu. Her head is
uncovered.]
THE YOUNG GIRL. 'Twas fair! Dost thou no more remember it?
Oh, thou hast made me suffer cruelly,
But what is there in life ends not in tears?
The happy days I've seen were very few,
But they were fair, ay, fair as in a dream!
The flowers on the window-sill! My flowers!
The little shaky spinet, and the desk
Wherein I kept thy letters, and the things
Thou gavest me!—Nay, nay, deride me not!—
These trifles were all beautiful to me,
And spoke to me with loving, living lips!
When in the sultry evening it had rained,
And we were standing in the window here
The fragrance of the rain-drenched flowers—!
'Tis gone,
And everything that was alive is dead,
Buried within our fond love's little grave!
Ah, 'twas so beautiful! Thine is the blame
That it was fair, and thine, too, is the shame
For casting me aside, a thoughtless child
That, wearied of the play, unheeded drops
His flowers. God! I'd naught to bind thee with!
[After a short pause.]
And then, when thy last cruel letter came,
I wished to die! I do not say this now
To cause thee grief. I wished to write to thee
A farewell word, but not to chide thee, dear,
Not full of anger, or of wild distress,
But that thou mightest long for me once more,
And for my love; to make thee shed one tear
Because it was too late. I did not write;
Indeed why should I, for how did I know
How much of thy great heart was in the things
Which filled my little mind with feverish joy,
Until I walked by day as in a dream?
Good-will cannot make faith from faithlessness,
And tears bring not what's dead to life again!
But people do not die of wounds like these.
'Twas not till later, after misery,
And long, gaunt years of pain, that I could die,
And then I begged that when thine hour should come
I might be with thee then, not to reproach,
Nor raise the ghastly past with words; but more
As when one drains a goblet of rare wine
The fragrance calls to mind with fleeting thought
Some old desires, half faded and forgot.
[She goes off; CLAUDIO hides his face in his hands. As she goes
out a man enters. He seems to be of about CLAUDIO'S age. He wears a
disordered and dusty traveling suit. From the left side of his chest protrudes
the wooden handle of a dagger. He stands in the middle of the stage facing
CLAUDIO.]
THE MAN. Dost thou still live, thou everlasting mummer?
Still reading Horace! Dost thou still rejoice
At clever cynicisms void of heart?
Thou mad'st approaches to me with fair words,
Saying that I had brought things to thy mind
Which slept within thy soul, as speaks at times
The night-wind of far distant lands. Ah, yes!
A harp's fair music in the wind wast thou,
The amorous wind was some one else's breath
Exhausted quite, now mine, another's now!
Long were we friends! Yes, friends! That is to say,
In common was our talk by day and night;
Our intercourse with other men, nay more,
In common trifled we with one same girl!
But our community was that of lord
And slave, who share in common house, and chair,
Dog, mid-day meal, or whip; to one the house
Is happiness, a prison to the other.
The litter carries one, its carven pole
Bruises the other's shoulder; for the one
The dog does tricks upon the garden walks,
But 'tis the other one who feeds the brute!
The half-developed feelings of my soul,
Pearls of great sorrow born, thou took'st from me,
To throw them like cheap playthings in the air!
Swift to make friends or conquest e'er wert thou,
My soul in silent supplication yearned,
Aloof and shy, with close-set teeth, while thou
Boldly didst lay thine hand on everything!
For me the word, shy, hesitating, died
Ere it was born. A woman crossed
Our path. And, lo, it seized me as disease
Strikes down a man, when all our senses reel,
Blinded from staring long at one same goal,
A goal of heavy sweetness, of wild flames,
And drowsy fragrance flashing like fool's-fire
In the black darkness! Oh, thou saw'st it all!
It charmed thee! "Yes, since oft I feel the same,
The girl's sophisticated ways have charmed
My mind! Her blasé air, her bitter pride,
So cynical, and yet so young!" Didst thou
Not so describe her to me afterward?
It charmed thee, but to me 'twas more than soul
And body! Wearied of the doll, in time
Thou gavest her to me! But by disgust
For thee how changed in face, how haggard, worn,
Stripped of her former grace and wondrous charm,
Her features lifeless, and that mass of hair
Hanging as dead!—A mask, and nothing more
Thou gavest me; worthless, contemptible,
The work of thy vile art which, acid-like,
Had seared and scarred that strange, sweet being.
For this I hated thee as bitterly
As I instinctively had loathed thy face;
And I avoided thee.
And then my fate,
Which blessed the broken bits of me at last,
Drove me with one fixed purpose in my breast
On to a goal! One impulse still remained
Unblighted by thy poisonous influence,
And for a noble aim my fate drove me
Upon the grim point of a murderer's knife,
And left me, slowly rotting in a ditch
Beside the road; rotting because of things
Thou can'st not understand, and yet which are
Thrice blessèd as compared to thee, who art
To others naught, who nothing are to thee!
[He goes off.]
CLAUD. To others naught, who nothing are to me!
[He raises himself slowly.]
As on the stage a low comedian
Who has his cue, and speaks his part, and goes
Indifferent to others and untouched
Alike by his own voice and others' cries,
Who are, in turn, not moved at all by him!
Just so upon Life's stage I've played my part,
But badly, without power!—Why was it so?
And why, O Death, dost thou teach me to see
This life, not darkly, through a veiling cloud
But clearly, rousing something in my heart
As it goes by? Why in our childish thoughts
Do we form such ideals of this life
That when, if e'er, it comes to pass, it leaves
Us but the hollow shudder of sad thoughts?
Why doth no music echo in our ears
To raise a magic spirit-world around,
Within whose secret grasp our heart is bound,
Outpoured, to us unknown, as secretly
As flowers beneath the brown earth hidden lie?
Could I but be with thee, there where thou art
But heard, and not forever torn apart
By endless trifles! Oh, I can! Grant thou
All that wherewith thou now hast threatened me!
My life was dead, O Death, be my life now!
What, since I recognize them both, makes me
Call this one Life, and that one Death, since thou
Canst press more of this life in one short hour
Than was contained in my whole life before!
I will forget dim darkness and its lore,
And consecrate myself to thy great power!
[He pauses for a moment in thought.]
Maybe that this is but a dying mood
Caused by the watchfulness of dying blood;
Yet in this life I've never understood
As much, and so, O Death, I bless thy power.
If, like a candle, I must die, snuffed out,
My mind still overflowing with this hour,
With me let all this pallid life go out!
I knew not that I lived until I die.
As when one sleeps the power of what he dreams
May waken him, so is it now, and I,
Fulfilled of feeling never felt before,
Awake in Death from Life's compelling dreams!
 [He falls dead at the feet of DEATH.]
DEATH (as he moves away, shaking his head).
How wonderful this mortal seed
Who the invisible can see,
Who Life's unwritten book can read,
Who scattered things can firmly bind,
And paths in the impenetrable darkness find!
[The room remains silent; outside one can see DEATH go past,
playing the violin. Behind him walk the MOTHER, the YOUNG GIRL, and
close beside them a figure which closely resembles that of CLAUDIO.]





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