Seelchen. [Touching his breast] I will come.

Lamond. [Drawing her to the dark doorway] Love me!

Seelchen.  I love!

The mandolin twangs out, the doorway for a moment is all glamorous; and they pass through.  Illumined by the glimmer of the lamp the Youth of the wine Hour is seen again.  And slowly to the chords of his mandolin he begins to sing: 

         “The windy hours through darkness fly
          Canst hear them little heart? 
          New loves are born, and old loves die,
          And kissing lips must part.

“The dusky bees of passing years
Canst see them, soul of mine—­
From flower and flower supping tears,
And pale sweet honey wine?

[His voice grown strange and passionate]

          “O flame that treads the marsh of time. 
          Flitting for ever low. 
          Where, through the black enchanted slime. 
          We, desperate, following go
          Untimely fire, we bid thee stay! 
          Into dark air above. 
          The golden gipsy thins away—­
          So has it been with love!”

While he is singing, the moon grows pale, and dies.  It falls dark, save for the glimmer of the lamp beneath which he stands.  But as his song ends, the dawn breaks over the houses, the lamp goes out—­the wine horn becomes shadow.  Then from the doorway of the Inn, in the shrill grey light Seelchen comes forth.  She is pale, as if wan with living; her eyes like pitch against the powdery whiteness of her face.

Seelchen.  My heart is old.

     But as she speaks, from far away is heard a faint chiming of
     cowbells; and while she stands listening, Lamond appears in the
     doorway of the Inn.

Lamond.  Little soul!

Seelchen.  You!  Always you!

Lamond.  I have new wonders.

Seelchen. [Mournfully] No.

Lamond.  I swear it!  You have not tired of me, that am never the same?  It cannot be.

Seelchen.  Listen!

     The chime of the cowbells is heard again.

Lamond. [Jealously] The music’ of dull sleep!  Has life, then, with me been sorrow?

Seelchen.  I do not regret.

Lamond.  Come!

Seelchen. [Pointing-to her breast] The bird is tired with flying. [Touching her lips] The flowers have no dew.

Lamond.  Would you leave me?

Seelchen.  See!

     There, in a streak of the dawn, against the plane tree is seen
     the Shepherd of the cow horn, standing wrapped in his mountain
     cloak.

Lamond.  What is it?