Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 1).pdf/347

 Just for a season let me beg or borrow A great, a crushing, a stupendous sorrow, And soon you'll hear my hymns of gladness rise! But best, Miss Jay, to nerve my wings for flight, Find me a maid to be my life, my light— For that incitement long to Heaven I've pleaded; But hitherto, worse luck, it hasn't heeded.

What levity!

Yes, most irreverent!

Pray don't imagine it was my intent To live with her on bread and cheese and kisses. No! just upon the threshold of our blisses, Kind Heaven must snatch away the gift it lent. I need a little spiritual gymnastic; The dose in that form surely would be drastic.

[Has during the talk approached; she stands close to the table, and says in a determined but whimsical tone:

I'll pray that such may be your destiny. But, when it finds you—bear it like a man.