_Forgael._ Why do you turn your eyes upon bare night? Am I to fear the waves, or is the moon My enemy? _Dectora._ I looked upon the moon, Longing to knead and pull it into shape That I might lay it on your head as a crown. But now it is your thoughts that wander away, For you are looking at the sea. Do you not know How great a wrong it is to let one’s thought Wander a moment when one is in love? [_He has moved away. She follows him. He is looking out over the sea, shading his eyes._ _Dectora._ Why are you looking at the sea? _Forgael._ Look there! There where the cloud creeps up upon the moon. _Dectora._ What is there but a troop of ash-grey birds That fly into the west? [_The scene darkens, but there is a ray of light upon the figures._ _Forgael._ But listen, listen! _Dectora._ What is there but the crying of the birds? _Forgael._ If you’ll but listen closely to that crying You’ll hear them calling out to one another With human voices. _Dectora._ Clouds have hid the moon. The birds cry out, what can I do but tremble? _Forgael._ They have been circling over our heads in the air, But now that they have taken to the road We have to follow, for they are our pilots; They’re crying out. Can you not hear their cry— ‘There is a country at the end of the world Where no child’s born but to outlive the moon.’ [_The _Sailors_ come in with AIBRIC. They carry torches._] _Aibric._ We have lit upon a treasure that’s so great Imagination cannot reckon it. The hold is full—boxes of precious spice, Ivory images with amethyst eyes, Dragons with eyes of ruby. The whole ship Flashes as if it were a net of herrings. Let us return to our own country, Forgael, And spend it there. Have you not found this queen? What more have you to look for on the seas? _Forgael._ I cannot—I am going on to the end. As for this woman, I think she is coming with me. _Aibric._ Speak to him, lady, and bid him turn the ship. He knows that he is taking you to death; He cannot contradict me. _Dectora._ Is that true? _Forgael._ I do not know for certain. _Dectora._ Carry me To some sure country, some familiar place. Have we not everything that life can give In having one another? _Forgael._ How could I rest If I refused the messengers and pilots With all those sights and all that crying out? _Dectora._ I am a woman, I die at every breath. _Aibric_ [_to the _Sailors__]. To the other ship, for there’s no help in words, And I will follow you and cut the rope When I have said farewell to this man here, For neither I nor any living man Will look upon his face again. [__Sailors_ go out, leaving one torch perhaps in a torch-holder on the bulwark._