for your sake. How cruel this wall is — if only I could tear it down... — And yet it is more merciful than our fathers. — Pyramus — — My life. — Is Paradise more beautiful than our prison? — It is beautiful — more beautiful than Paradise. — And this darkness around us? — The light of your love illumines it. — I love to hear your singing, Pyramus,

through this wall... Sing, as the sun sends its rays upon the lifeless earth. Sing, as the dew comes down upon the thirsty earth.

— Nothing is dearer to me than that.. — Sing... — I shall sing.. — And what will you sing? — All my songs that I have chanted for you. I shall sing, for you, the spring and its blossoms, and all the red roses that are in the gardens... — Will you not sing something else? — I shall sing to the gods, for they have graced me with your love.

The talk of the two tormented lovers went on and on through the wall.. But they could not endure this state, for love bore down upon them. And on a certain night this conversation passed between the two lovers:

— Thisbe. — Pyramus — — The moon is almost at the full, my beloved.

— The moon is beautiful tonight. — The moon is always beautiful... — But it is silent... why is it mute.. — Do not say that, my beloved; Diana may hear you and be angered.

— Does it speak? Does it under-stand? — It does not speak as we do, my beloved. It speaks with a tongue of silver — a tongue with a sweet, deep ring...

— That is a poet's fancy... — No, it is the truth, my beloved.

— It speaks to me.. and understands me, and I speak to it and understand it...

It speaks to me with its rays and its lights, and I speak to it with my heart and my song... It has laughed for me, and it has danced for me... Thisbe! — What is it, my beloved? — I have a wish... — What?

— I wish the moon's rays might flood over us tomorrow, on that open plain! — Tomorrow! — And why not.. do you not desire it? — How could I refuse.. I wish it. — Then we shall meet. — And how —

— At night... you will come to me; no one will notice you.

— And where shall we meet? — In the graveyard... — ...??

— Do you not know it? — A dreadful place. I fear the night... — But it is a wonderful place...

We shall sit with the moon and talk... — And you will sing? — And we may weep... — ...?

— Tomorrow, Thisbe. — Tomorrow, my beloved. — I shall wait for you by the white mulberry tree..

How wonderful the night is...

How wonderful this fragrance rising from earth and sky.. as

if it were incense burned by the gods for the coming of "Thisbe," on her way to the beloved tryst. She walked as though borne upon a cloud... like a dream walking in mist...

She reached the dreadful grave-yard... Here is the white mulberry tree.. a tree she knows well...

And here is the graveyard's marble — white, gleaming, majestic... and here is the moon, its rays dancing over the clean white marble, and the shadows stretching long — stretching as though they were the demons of

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