Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 1).pdf/495

 [with wild vehemence].

Tear, tear it from thy memory! All his talk Was true for others, but for us a lie!

[slowly shaking her head].

The golden grain, hail-stricken on its stalk, Will never more wave wanton to the sky.

[with an outburst of anguish].

Yes, we two, Svanhild—!

Hence with hopes that snare! If you sow falsehood, you must reap despair. For others true, you say? And do you doubt That each of them, like us, is sure, alike, That he's the man the lightning will not strike, And no avenging thunder will find out, Whom the blue storm-cloud, scudding up the sky On wings of tempest, never can come nigh?

The others split their souls on scattered ends: Thy single love my being comprehends. They're hoarse with yelling in life's Babel din: I in this quiet shelter fold thee in.

But if love, notwithstanding, should decay, —Love being Happiness's single stay— Could you avert, then, Happiness's fall?