Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 3).djvu/276



Not for recompense I bleed; Not for trophies do I fight.

For a race that walks entomb'd

One to many can give light.

All their generation's doom'd.

Much availeth one will's might.

"One" with fiery sword of yore Man of Paradise bereft! At the gate a gulf he cleft;— Over that thou mayst not soar!

But the path of yearning's left

[''Vanishes in a thunder-clap; the mist fills the place where it stood; and a piercing scream is heard, as of one flying.'']

Die! Earth cannot use thee more!

[Stands a moment in bewilderment.]

Out into the mist it leapt,— Plumy wings of falcon beating,