Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 3).djvu/231



By that name I'm known.

I was just thirsting for a breast That was not made of wood or stone! Come, to my heart of hearts be press'd!

My haven's found, I am at rest.

You bear a grudge for the event Of our last meeting

In no wise; I blame you not. You were but sent To be the passive instrument Wherewith God oped my erring eyes.

[starts back.]

What tongue is this?

The tongue of peace— The tongue they learn, who, timely torn From Sleep of Sin, awake new-born.

Marvellous! I had heard of this,— That you in quite another way Were walking