Whistles, lays hand on hip, laughs at her ease, And seems to signify of two things, one-- Come, kiss me if you choose, or, if you dare. Enter Antinous, Herminia, May Montgomery, Mary-Jane, and Bellona. Edmund. Good morning, and good morning, gentle friends. Bellona. And who are these? Clown. A sweetheart and her poet. May [to Annie]. Tell me your name, and I will tell you mine. [May and Annie talk apart. Ringan [to Mary-Jane]. O lady, summer's essence, centuries Of sunlight from your eyes my being flood. The sweetest damask of a season's bloom Of roses dyes your cheeks, your tender breath Is sweeter than their scent, and in your hair There shines more gold than ever July spent In gilding leagues of wheat. Mary-Jane. Ha, ha! good boy. You'd better deem me dressed as winter, though. Ringan. O, were you in a snow-drift clad, and hung With icicles about, a glance would tell That you were summer masquerading. Lo! You are the summer, and you could not hide, No more than Venus with her girdle on Could pass for Hecate. And I love you, lady. Mary-Jane. Now, you are foolish, sir. [Crosses to Edmund. Ringan. I fear I am. [Lies down under a tree. Bellona. Have you ever been in love? Clown. I am not such a fool. Bellona. Not such a man, you mean. You are all fools till you be in love--great, lubberly, ill-bred, selfish clowns. And when the selfish passion seizes you, then--then--O then! Clown. Why, what then? Bellona. Then you become ten times great, lubberly, ill-bred, selfish clowns. Men are all and always fools.--Earl Edmund, we are here. What then? Edmund. Impatient amazon, thus then it is: This hour you must complete as best you can; When it is sped, here gather all again, And on the grass partake a sylvan feast: There shall not want for music; if for song, The blame be with yourselves. Be happy, all.-- Sweet May Montgomery, will you walk with me? [Edmund and May go out. Bellona. I'll walk alone. [Ringan rushes forward. Well, boy, you look distraught. Ringan. O incarnation of what nymph soe'er, I knew not what it is to love till now; For never have I seen in any maid So much to love as in this heaven appears. Some maidens are like night, and some like day, But hear me swear, since day and night began There has not overhung a thrilled, hushed world A night so bossed with points of admiration, As o'er my soul is imminent in you, Studded with stars of love-enforcing power; Nor has there shone a day so bounteous Of every largesse to a thankful world, But that the joyous motion you instil Throughout my life transcends its benefice: Wherefore, vouchsafe to hear me cry, I love you; And frown not, for the night should never frown Upon the humble flower that yields its scent, Its sole ability of offering; The day should never lower upon the lake Exhaling tears, which is its grateful life.