Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 3).djvu/148

 Sapp'd is all my strength of will. Oh, but better shall ensue! Once these days are overworn, Thou shalt never see me mourn!

Keep'st thou so God's holy Night?

Ah! Too much thou must not crave! Think—last year so sweet and bright, This year carried from my sight; Carried—carried

[Loudly.]

To the grave.

[Shrieks.]

Name it not!

With lungs that crack, Named it must be, if thou shrink— Named, till echo rolls it back, Like a billow from the brink.

Ah! The word gives thee, too, pain. How-so passionless thou boast thee! On thy brow I see the stain Of the agony it cost thee!

On my brow the drops that lie Are but sea-spray from the storm.