THE POET. [_Searching in the pile_] Here is the name-board of the ship _Justice_. That was the one which left Fairhaven with the Blind Man's son on board. It is lost then! And with it are gone the lover of Alice, the hopeless love of Edith.
THE DAUGHTER. The Blind Man? Fairhaven? I must have been dreaming of them. And the lover of Alice, "Plain" Edith, Foulstrand and the Quarantine, sulphur and carbolic acid, the graduation in the church, the Lawyer's office, the passageway and Victoria, the Growing Castle and the Officer--All this I have been dreaming----
THE DAUGHTER. You know then what poetry is----
THE POET. I know then what dreaming is--But what is poetry?
THE DAUGHTER. Not reality, but more than reality--not dreaming, but daylight dreams----
THE POET. And the man-children think that we poets are only playing--that we invent and make believe.
THE DAUGHTER. And fortunate it is, my friend, for otherwise the world would lie fallow for lack of ministration. Everybody would be stretched on his back, staring into the sky. Nobody would be touching plough or spade, hammer or plane.
THE POET. And you say this, Indra's daughter, you who belong in part up there----
THE DAUGHTER. You do right in reproaching me. Too long have I stayed down here taking mud baths like you--My thoughts have lost their power of flight; there is clay on their wings--mire on their feet--and I myself--[_raising her arms_] I sink, I sink--Help me, father, Lord of the Heavens! [_Silence_] I can no longer hear his answer. The ether no longer carries the sound from his lips to my ear's shell the silvery thread has snapped--Woe is me, I am earthbound!
THE DAUGHTER. As soon as I have consigned this mortal shape to the flames--for even the waters of the ocean cannot cleanse me. Why do you question me thus?
THE POET. A written supplication from humanity to the ruler of the universe, formulated by a dreamer.
THE DAUGHTER. Can you repeat what you have written?
THE DAUGHTER. [_Receives the roll, but reads without looking at it_] Well, by me it shall be spoken then:
"Why must you be born in anguish? Why, O man-child, must you always Wring your mother's heart with torture When you bring her joy maternal, Highest happiness yet known? Why to life must you awaken, Why to light give natal greeting, With a cry of anger and of pain? Why not meet it smiling, man-child, When the gift of life is counted In itself a boon unmatched? Why like beasts should we be coming, We of race divine and human? Better garment craves the spirit Than one made of filth and blood! Need a god his teeth be changing----"