But work, not song, provides our daily bread,
And when a man's alive, his music's dead.
A young man's life's a lawsuit, and the most
Superfluous litigation in existence:
Withdraw, make terms, abandon all resistance:
Plead where and how you will, your suit is lost.
Falk [bold and confident, with a glance at the summer-house]. Nay, tho' I took it to the highest place,— Judgment, I know, would be reversed by grace! I know two hearts can live a life complete, With hope still ardent, and with faith still sweet; You preach the wretched gospel of the hour, That the Ideal is secondary! Stiver. No! It's primary: appointed, like the flower, To generate the fruit, and then to go.
[Indoors, Miss Jay plays and sings: "In the Gloaming." Stiver stands listening in silent emotion.
With the same melody she calls me yet
Which thrilled me to the heart when first we met.
[Lays his hand on Falk's arm and gazes intently at him.
Oft as she wakens those pathetic notes,
From the white keys reverberating floats
An echo of the "yes" that made her mine.
And when our passions shall one day decline,
