Sleep!—How long has it been since Sleep and I Met in the heavy road and laid us down, Took our dear ease, and let the world go by?— I well remember in the north one time,— Beside Moselle, where all the live-long day Upon a stairway old we stood on guard, De Buc and I, and looked on Mutiny, Brazen and bold, Death visible and dark!— And all the night before in council spent, After a day’s forced march from Lunéville, And a wild night of wine and rapiers drawn.— As the sun set we heard a bugle blown, Beat of the drums, and thunder of the guns, And Bouillé’s voice, assurance of relief!— Another night of council, then at dawn We slept. The moon was crescent and a star Shone on to guide the white, enchanted boat Through seas of ether coloured like a shell; The trees were dark beneath; there was no sound; The air was cold,—we laid us down and slept. Saint Gris! No dreams did trouble us that day!— [_He rests upon the choir step._ To bring the dead again! No flowret blooms, No herb, no leaf, shall bring the dead again. No garden is there where for all one’s gold, The weightiest sceptre or the keenest sword, Might one obtain the happy gardener’s place, And find the bloom that brings the dead again. It grows not here, and there is naught will serve, No rain of tears, no delving earnestly, No lift of hope, no squandered treasury, Love nor remorse, nor longing nor great pain. The star has shot. The dead come not again. [_He rises and again walks to and fro._ Happy the dead.—Ah, what of one who lives? What of that mask in this fantastic dance Who crowned herself with poison flowers and laughed To see the lilies fade before her breath?— O death! O love! O blasting treachery! O face that in the prison of La Force Visited my dreams— [_The door opens._ YVETTE _leans against it, panting, then comes forward_. YVETTE Where is the paper? DE VARDES The paper? YVETTE The letter to the judges! Folded and hidden in the purse I sent— DE VARDES You sent?— YVETTE By Séraphine! You have it, sure? [_She looks about her._ Where is she?—The Citoyenne Blanchefôret? DE VARDES She’s dead. YVETTE No. DE VARDES Yes. YVETTE All is black before me! DE VARDES They called her name—She said adieu and went. They slew her in the street. YVETTE Alas!