SVANHILD.
“Long!” “Long!”--Poor starveling word!
Can “long” give any comfort in Love’s need?
It is her death-doom, blight upon her seed.
“My faith is, Love will never pass away”--
That song must cease, and in its stead be heard:
“My faith is, that I loved you yesterday!”
[As uplifted by inspiration.]
No, no, not thus our day of bliss shall wane,
Flag drearily to west in clouds and rain;--
But at high noontide, when it is most bright,
Plunge sudden, like a meteor, into the night!