Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 3).djvu/198



At the cross-way stand'st thou: choose Quench the kindled light I brought, Fence the fountain of my thought, Give me back my idol treasures (Still she lingers by the door), Give me back the earthly pleasures Of the bright, blind days of yore; Thrust me back into the pit Where till now I lulled my sin, Deeper, deeper thrust me in— Thou canst lightly compass it; Clip my wings and check my flight, Load my feet, and drag me bound Down, down from thy dizzy height To my lowly native ground; Let me lead the life I led When the darkness yet was dread: If thou darest thus to lose, Then, as ever, I am thine; At the cross-way stand'st thou: choose!

Woe, if such a choice were mine. Ah, but in some place afar, Where no bitter memories are, Death and darkness thou shalt brave!

Hast thou here thy work forgotten, Holy work—and holy grave? And the thousands sin-besotten, It is here thy task to save— Those thou guidest for God's sake To the Fountain that renews? At the cross-way stand'st thou; choose