Part 60 (2/2)

Cherry cobblah!

Zu. (Shutting the door) Don' want dat wind blowin' on my poun'

cake! It'll fall sho'!

(Virginia comes out at the front door of cottage, and walks across the lawn to the shade of a bay tree where Poe lies in a hammock as if asleep. A book on the ground. She goes up softly and sits on a garden chair near him. He opens his eyes)

Vir. O, I have waked you!

Poe. No, little houri. I was not asleep. I would not give one breath of this sweet world to cold, unconscious sleep.

Vir. You are happy, cousin Edgar?

Poe. No, Virginia. This is all too delicious to be called happiness. Too calm, like the stilling of a condor's wings above sea-guarding peaks. He flies when he is happy. When more than happy, it is enough to pause in the blue and breathe wonders.

Vir. Is it wonderful here, Edgar? It has always seemed so to me, but I have been afraid to tell anyone. It seems like a great fairy house with G.o.d in it. Is it wonderful, cousin?

Poe. _You_ are wonderful.

Vir. O, no, no, no! I want to tell you too, Edgar, I have never felt that I quite belong here. It is all too good for me--so beautiful, and I am not beautiful.

Poe. (Rising) Why, my little aspiring Venus, let me tell you something. I have wandered somewhat in life--at home and over sea--and I have never looked upon a woman fairer than yourself.

Vir. (Springing up in delight) O, I am so happy! You would not flatter me! You are the soul of truth!

Poe. It is no flattery, little maid, as the world will soon teach you.

Vir. I have nothing to do with that world, Edgar. My world is the circuit of our mocking-bird's wing. O, where is he?

(Calls) Freddy! Freddy! He is not near or he would come.

But he never goes farther than the orchard. Freddy!... He has not sung to me this morning. You haven't heard his finest song yet. O, 'tis sweeter than--

Poe. (Picking up book) Than Spenser?

Vir. Yes--than Spenser. Though he makes music too, and we were just coming to the siren's song. Shall I read?

Poe. Do! I knew not how to love him till he warbled from your tongue.

Vir. 'Tis where the mermaid calls the knight.

(Reads)

O, thou fair son of gentle faery, That art in mighty arms most magnifyde Above all knights that ever battle tried, O, turn thy rudder hetherward awhile!

Here may the storm-bett vessel safely ride; This is the port of ease from troublous toil, The world's sweet inn from pain and wearisome turmoyle!

Poe. No more--no more!

Vir. Why, cousin?

<script>