Entracte.
I am gone
Away from my own bosom; I have left
My strong identity, my real self,
Somewhere between the throne and where I sit
Here on this spot of earth.
Now comes the pain of truth, to whom 'tis pain -
O folly! for to bear all naked truths,
And to envisage circumstance, all calm,
That is the top of sovereignty.
O tell me, lonely Goddess, by the harp,
That waileth every morn and eventide,
Tell me why thus I rave, about these groves?
I am gone
Away from my own bosom; I have left
My strong identity, my real self,
Somewhere between the throne and where I sit
Here on this spot of earth.
Now comes the pain of truth, to whom 'tis pain -
O folly! for to bear all naked truths,
And to envisage circumstance, all calm,
That is the top of sovereignty.
O tell me, lonely Goddess, by the harp,
That waileth every morn and eventide,
Tell me why thus I rave, about these groves?
