Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 1).pdf/469



Just so. That is a home, where five may dwell with ease, Tho' two would be a crowd, if enemies. That is a home, where all your thoughts play free As boys and girls about their father's knee, Where speech no sooner touches heart, than tongue Darts back an answering harmony of song; Where you may grow from flax-haired snowy-polled, And not a soul take note that you grow old; Where memories grow fairer as they fade, Like far blue peaks beyond the forest glade.

[with constrained sarcasm].

Come, you grow warm—

Where you but jeered and flouted. So utterly unlike God made us two! I'm bare of that he lavished upon you. But I have won the game where you were routed. Seen from the clouds, full many a wayside grain Of truth seems empty chaff and husks. You'd soar To heaven, I scarcely reach the stable door, One bird's an eagle born—

And one a hen.