it
has no words. Only scent, and colour. If I were to, I should destroy it.
What's unborn is always most beautiful. What's unwon, most dear!

LADY. Quiet. Or, our guests will leave us.

(They do not speak.)

STRANGER. This _is_ happiness--but I can't grasp it.

LADY. See it and breath it; for it can't be grasped.

(They do not speak.)

STRANGER. You're looking at your little room.

LADY. It's as bright green as a summer meadow. There's someone in there.
Several people!

STRANGER. Only my thoughts.

LADY. Your good, your beautiful thoughts....

STRANGER. Given me by you.

LADY. Had I anything to give you?

STRANGER. You? Everything! But up to now my hands have not been free to
take it. Not clean enough to stroke your little heart....

LADY. Beloved! The time for reconciliation's coming.

STRANGER. With mankind, and woman--through a woman? Yes, that time has
come; and blessed may you be amongst women.

(The candles and lamps go out; it grows dark in the dining-room; but a
weak ray of light can be seen, coming from the brass standard lamp in
the LADY's room.)

LADY. Why's it grown dark? Oh!

STRANGER. Where are you, beloved? Give me your hand. I'm afraid!

LADY. Here, dearest.

STRANGER. The little hand, held out to me in the darkness, that's led me
over stones and thorns. That little, soft, dear hand! Lead me into the
light, into your bright, warm room; fresh green like hope.

LADY (leading him towards the pale-green room). Are you afraid?

STRANGER. You're a white dove, with whom the startled eagle finds
sanctuary, when heaven's thunder clouds grow black, for the dove has no
fear. She has not provoked the thunders of heaven!

(They have reached the doorway leading to the other room, when the
curtain falls.)

***

[The same room; but the table has been cleared. The LADY is sitting at
it, doing nothing. She seems bored. On the right, down stage, a window
is open. It is still. The STRANGER comes in, with a piece of paper in
his hand.]

STRANGER. Now you shall hear it.

LADY (acquiescing absent-mindedly). Finished already?

STRANGER. Already? Do you mean that seriously? I've taken seven days to
write this little poem. (Silence.) Perhaps it'll bore you to hear it?

LADY (drily). No. Certainly not. (The STRANGER sits down at the table
and looks at the LADY.) Why are you looking at me?

STRANGER. I'd like to see your thoughts.

LADY. But you've heard them.

STRANGER. That's nothing; I