The mad girl sings:
‘Come, come, come,
o bold and trumpeting sun,
Come swell with Spring’s green blood
My drying fruitless boughs.
Come, come, come o lover, exuberant sun
Awake like the stars in their swarms
In a fanfare of blossom
My tense and burning limbs!
Come, make imminent with your gold blood
My crumbling heart, my broken mind . . . ‘
Death speaks:
‘You must hunt for him
In the white shadows of black clouds,
In the green silence of many waters,
Among frail echos of dead words.
You must hunt for him
Deep in the summer’s redness,
Among dried thorns
And the footless worms.
You must seek him out
In the tiger’s wrath and in his sharpness.
You must seek him out
Among infinite voices,
In the child’s castle and the angel’s eye.
You must search him out
Like sin in its darkness,
In the night blacker darker than a panther.
You must seek him out
Among the living and the dead.’
The mad girl speaks:
‘Like the summer’s rose
And the summer’s rain I too am dead . . . yet
My heart is as young as the oldest tree,
Oh, but as dry as Eternity.’
Death speaks:
‘And your Prince will come
As the sun has come,
In the mind’s dark crater
Like the darkness in the Light
He will come . . .
To your crumbling heart. You must sit and wait.’
