Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 1).pdf/281



I am snared already, it seems to me.

But, Gudmund, wait—you have still to see How I've shielded your harp from the dust and the rust.

You shall teach me all of your songs! You must!

She has flushed to the loveliest rose of May, That was yet but a bud in the morning's ray.

Behold!

Still the old chords ring sweet and clear— On the wall, untouched, thou shalt hang no more.

Our guests are coming.