Yet I scarce feel them there:

Faintly I hear thee speak.

My heart is dreaming far away,

In some sad, future day.

Raymond.

The future? In the mist

Of years what dost thou see?

O let that dark land rest:

Come back, come back to me!

Look up! How fix'd and vacant seem

Thine eyes; so deep they dream.

Ida.

To leave the blessed light:

Cold in the grave to lie!

No voice, no human sight:

Darkness and apathy!

To die! 'tis hard, ere youth is o'er;

But ah, to love no more!

[20]

Raymond.

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