Olga
Dim. I see the virgin-saint of the new faith
And all the miracle of the new time—
Young awful justice in a lovelier mask
Than Folly ever wore. What more? [ see
The dagger glittering at the tyrant's heart.
Ivan. If you see true, so be it; and in Heaven's name
Snatch up this delicate flower from its gay vase
And let it scorch and blacken in the flames.
We are sworn to sacrifice not ourselves only,
But, if need be, the best and fairest too.
But what you see I see not. I see love
And idle marriage, serious folly—all
The little countless treasons of vain youth
To the best and highest; all a nation's hope,
A world's hope it may be, cast lightly by
For a night's triumph in a new-made dress,
For a fool's whisper, homage of a flower,
Or say—a smile from the August himself.
. . . . And truly we may boast that Cherub lips
Shall pipe our march to the Infernal gods.
For where else are we bound when we recruit
Our sacred band in ball-rooms and entrust
Our secret to the ears of waxen dolls?
And all the miracle of the new time—
Young awful justice in a lovelier mask
Than Folly ever wore. What more? [ see
The dagger glittering at the tyrant's heart.
Ivan. If you see true, so be it; and in Heaven's name
Snatch up this delicate flower from its gay vase
And let it scorch and blacken in the flames.
We are sworn to sacrifice not ourselves only,
But, if need be, the best and fairest too.
But what you see I see not. I see love
And idle marriage, serious folly—all
The little countless treasons of vain youth
To the best and highest; all a nation's hope,
A world's hope it may be, cast lightly by
For a night's triumph in a new-made dress,
For a fool's whisper, homage of a flower,
Or say—a smile from the August himself.
. . . . And truly we may boast that Cherub lips
Shall pipe our march to the Infernal gods.
For where else are we bound when we recruit
Our sacred band in ball-rooms and entrust
Our secret to the ears of waxen dolls?
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