. Tell me, Virginia! (Goes toward a closet)

Vir. (Getting before him) If you were reaching for a cup of
poison, Edgar, I would risk my life, ay, risk your love,
to dash it from you. And wine is your poison. I can not
let you drink death.

Poe. Death! It is all the life that is left to me, and you deny
it!

Vir. Be quiet, love. You will wake our mother.

Poe. Down, gods, and let the lady sleep!

Vir. She is not well, Edgar.

Poe. But she will be well to-morrow, and I--I am immortally
sick and you deny me a drop of wine.

Vir. O, my poor boy! I'm so sorry for you!

Poe. And is that all, O Heaven? I'm her poor boy, and she is so
sorry for me! Why, here's a heart that loosens in its
throbs the birth-song of new stars! Come, strike thy chime
with mine, and though all bells upon the planet jingle, in
us will still be music!

Vir. O, Edgar!

Poe. Well?

Vir. I can not speak.

Poe. Virginia, Virginia! I pour out my soul to you! I keep back
no drop of its sea! From the infinite, shrouded sources of
life I rush to you in a thousand singing rivers, only to
waste, to burn, to die on the sands of silence! (She
remains motionless, her head bowed) ... It is so still
upon the eternal peaks. Will you not come up with me and
be the bride of my dreams? You need not speak ... you need
not say a word. Only put the light of poesy in your eyes
and let me _see_ that through the channel of their beauty
course the mysteries that begin with God and end not with
time! (She looks at him. He gazes into her eyes) ... Tears
... only tears. (Turns away) Can a soul's _eyes_ be dumb?
(She sits, weeping silently) ... Come then ... talk of
what you will. Only talk! You have read a little Byron
to-day? The new magazine came? And you have made me a
handkerchief? (She sobs. He looks at her remorsefully,
crosses the room, gets her harp and brings it to the
fireside) Come ... sing to me, Virginia. You can do that.

Vir. (Taking harp) What shall I sing, dear?

Poe. Something to charm the very heart of AEolus! That will turn
a tempest into a violet's breath!

Vir. Ah, my love!

Poe. O, sing--s