Page:Poet Lore, volume 21, 1910.djvu/448

 Petr (overcome by her eloquence, puts his hand to his brow).—All this I have never known.

Maya (leans back against the wall and looks upward to the sky).—See how those clouds travel along! Great, airy, free, joyful. Something carries them along, something unknown, invisible, perhaps the vehement currents of those high spheres, perhaps their own passion for the setting sun, or perhaps only the mood and poetic spirit of this day. How freely and undauntedly they journey on! Without a will of their own and yet so free, unencumbered, unfettered by either earth or heaven. I often feel that I am floating on like those clouds. High up above the earth, illumined, sunkissed. And the earth deep down, deep under me. In that distance the earth looks so friendly, peaceful, dumb. Here on earth there might be happiness, but up above there is joy, there is light—light even long after sunset—and probably death there would be sweet, beautiful. Can you see?

Petr (from his depths).—I see. (Silence.)

Maya (first to rouse herself).—But I am babbling again. It looks like foolishness, doesn’t it?

Petr.—Ach, no, Miss. I could listen to you forever and forever. I am so dull, I really ought to answer you somehow—I feel it—but look! It was not given to me.

Maya.—Don’t be surprised at me, Mr. Petr. After so many years we meet each other and I feel now just as if I were returning from some very distant place—home. See, I very seldom have confessed myself so truly and voluntarily to any one as I have to-day.

Petr (still looking at the clouds).—It was beautiful. (Silence.)

Kocianova (comes out of the house).—So, Miss, if you please, have something to eat with us. It is just a bite. By the time you could reach Breskovitz you would be pretty hungry. The doctor will wait. He can join us at the table when he comes.

Maya.—Mr. Petr and I have been talking the time away.

Kocianova.—You must come to see us oftener, since you are in the neighborhood.

Maya.—Ah, surely I’ll come. But you did not have to go to all this trouble, Mrs. Kocianova.

Kocianova.—How you talk, child. Come, come.

Maya (on the threshold).—Well, since I must. (Goes in.)

Kocianova (goes after her, but returns).—And how about you,