PEER GYNT
[plays and sings]
I double-locked my Paradise,
and took its key with me.
The north-wind bore me seaward ho!
while lovely women all forlorn
wept on the ocean strand.
Still southward, southward clove my keel
the salt sea-currents through.
Where palms were swaying proud and fair,
a garland round the ocean-bight,
I set my ship afire.
I climbed aboard the desert ship,
a ship on four stout legs.
It foamed beneath the lashing whip —
oh, catch me; I’m a flitting bird;—
I’m twittering on a bough!
Anitra, thou’rt the palm-tree’s must;
that know I now full well!
Ay, even the Angora goat-milk cheese
is scarcely half such dainty fare,
Anitra, ah, as thou!
[He hangs the lute over his shoulder, and comes forward.]