Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 4).djvu/202

 Folk with o'erfed souls on earth Who shall scarce attain to clearness. Once I met with such a fellow, Of the flock the very flower; And even he mistook his goal, Losing sense in blatant sound.— See the waste round this oasis. Were I but to swing my turban, I could force the ocean-flood To fill up the whole concern. But I were a blockhead, truly Seas and lands to go creating. Know you what it is to live?

Teach me!

It is to be wafted Dry-shod down the stream of time, Wholly, solely as oneself. Only in full manhood can I Be the man I am, dear child! Aged eagle moults his plumage, Aged fogey lags declining, Aged dame has ne'er a tooth left, Aged churl gets withered hands,— One and all get withered souls. Youth! Ah Youth! I mean to reign, As a sultan, whole and fiery,— Not on Gyntiana's shores, Under trellised vines and palm-leaves,— But enthronëd in the freshness Of a woman's virgin thoughts.— See you now, my little maiden, Why I've graciously bewitched you,—