Volume II Part 57 (1/2)

ROBIN

I had, almost. If marriage make the moons Fly, as this month has flown, we shall be old And grey in our graves before we know it.

I wish that we could chain old Father Time.

MARIAN

And break his gla.s.s into ten thousand pieces.

ROBIN

And drown his cruel scythe ten fathom deep, Under the bright blue sea whence Love was born:

MARIAN

Ah, but we have not parted all this month More than a garden's breadth, an arrow's flight: Time will be dead till you come back again.

Four hours of absence make four centuries!

Do you remember how the song goes, Robin, That bids true lovers not to grieve at parting Often? for Nature gently severs them thus, Training them up with kind and tender art, For the great day when they must part for ever.

ROBIN

Do you believe it, Marian?

MARIAN

No; for love Buried beneath the dust of life and death, Would wait for centuries of centuries, Ages of ages, until G.o.d remembered, And, through that peris.h.i.+ng cloud-wrack, face looked up Once more to loving face.

ROBIN

Your hope--and mine!

Is not a man's poor memory, indeed, A daily resurrection? Your hope--and mine!

MARIAN

And all the world's at heart! I do believe it.

ROBIN

And I--if only that so many souls Like yours have died believing they should meet Again, lovers and children, little children!

G.o.d will not break that trust. I have found my heaven Again in you; and, though I stumble still, Your small hand leads me thro' the darkness, up And onward, to the heights I dared not see, And dare not even now; but my head bows Above your face; I see them in your eyes.

Love, point me onward still!

[_He takes her in his arms._]

Good-bye! Good-bye!

MARIAN

Come back, come back, before the masque begins!