Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 4).djvu/201

 Then shall your lips, fresh and balmy, To my smiling, passion whisper!

[Lies down at his feet.]

All thy words are sweet as singing, Though I understand but little. Master, tell me, can thy daughter Catch a soul by listening?

Soul, and spirit's light and knowledge, All in good time you shall have them. When in east, on rosy streamers Golden types print: Here is day,— Then, my child, I'll give you lessons; You'll be well brought up, no fear. But, 'mid night's delicious stillness, It were stupid if I should, With a threadbare wisdom's remnants, Play the part of pedagogue.— And the soul, moreover, is not, Looked at properly, the main thing. It's the heart that really matters.

Speak, O Master! When thou speakest, I see gleams, as though of opals!

Wisdom in extremes is folly; Coward blossoms into tyrant; Truth, when carried to excess, Ends in wisdom written backwards. Ay, my daughter, I'm forsworn As a dog if there are not