Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 3).djvu/147

 The black clouds that overcome me; What a night, what days have been These two—and the night between!

I am with thee, child, once more.

[''He lights a single candle, which throws a pale radiance over the room.'']

Thou art pale.

And worn and sad. I have watch'd and long'd so sore; And this little leafy bough— Little, it was all I had, Saved from summer until now To bedeck our Christmas-tree,— I have hung it there, Brand, see! His the bush was, so we said; Ah, 'twas his—it crown'd him dead!

[Bursts into tears.]

Look, from the snow it peers Yonder, his—O God

His grave.

O that word!

Have done with tears.

Yes—be patient—I'll be brave! But my soul is bleeding still, And the wound is raw and new—