In heaven’s name, who’s been ravaging Our sanctum? There the lamp lies dashed To pieces, curtain dragged to floor, pen smashed, And on the mantelpiece the ink pot splashed— FALK [_clapping him on the shoulder_]. This wreck’s the first announcement of my spring; No more behind drawn curtains I will sit, Making pen poetry with lamp alit; My dull domestic poetising’s done, I’ll walk by day, and glory in the sun: My spring is come, my soul has broken free, Action henceforth shall be my poetry. LIND. Make poetry of what you please for me; But how if Mrs. Halm should take amiss Your breaking of her furniture to pieces? FALK. What!—she, who lays her daughters and her nieces Upon the altar of her boarders’ bliss,— She frown at such a bagatelle as this? LIND [_angrily_]. It’s utterly outrageous and unfair, And compromises me as well as you! But that’s her business, settle it with her. The lamp was mine, tho’, shade and burner too— FALK. Tut, on that head, I’ve no account to render; You have God’s summer sunshine in its splendour,— What would you with the lamp? LIND. You are grotesque; You utterly forget that summer passes; If I’m to make a figure in my classes At Christmas I must buckle to my desk. FALK [_staring at him_]. What, you look _forward_? LIND. To be sure I do, The examination’s amply worth it too. FALK. Ah but—you ‘only sit and live’—remember! Drunk with the moment, you demand no more— Not even a modest third-class next December. You’ve caught the bird of Fortune fair and fleet, You feel as if the world with all its store Were scattered in profusion at your feet. LIND. Those were my words; they must be understood, Of course, _cum grano salis_— FALK. Very good! LIND. In the _forenoons_ I will enjoy my bliss; That I am quite resolved on— FALK. Daring man! LIND. I have my round of visits to the clan; Time will run anyhow to waste in this; But any further dislocation of My study-plan I strongly disapprove. FALK.