Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 1).pdf/337

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I will live in song and gladness,—
 * Then, when every bloom is shed,

Sweep together, scarce in sadness,
 * All that glory, wan and dead:

Fling the gates wide! Bruise and batter,
 * Tear and trample, hoof and tusk;

I have plucked the flower, what matter
 * Who devours the withered husk!

I have plucked the flower, etc. [They clink and empty their glasses.

There—that's the song you asked me for; but pray Be lenient to it—I can't think to-day.

Oh, never mind the sense—the sound's the thing.

But Svanhild, who was eagerest to hear—? When Falk began, she suddenly took wing And vanished—

No, for there she sits—I see her.