Costs it more pain than this, ye call
A 'great event,' should come to pass,
Than that? Untwine me from the mass
Of deeds which make up life, one deed
Power shall fall short in, or exceed!
And more of it, and more of it!—oh, yes—
I will pass by, and see their happiness,
And envy none—being just as great, no doubt,
Useful to men, and dear to God, as they!
A pretty thing to care about
So mightily, this single holiday!
But let the sun shine! Wherefore repine?
—With thee to lead me, O Day of mine,
Down the grass-path grey with dew,
Under the pine-wood, blind with boughs,
Where the swallow never flew
As yet, nor cicala dared carouse—
Dared carouse!
[She enters the street.
I.—MORNING.
Sebald [sings].
Let the watching lids wink!
Day's a-blaze with eyes, think—
Deep into the night, drink!
Ottima. Night? Such may be your Rhineland nights, perhaps;
But this blood-red beam through the shutter's chink,