OSWALD--O Selma, listen to me just this once, And then forever listen to the years Give back the echo of this golden hour. Do you remember that day in the wood When we were gathering may-apples? You ran Shouting: "Here is a large one," and you stooped To pick it, when a snake coiled round the stalk, Hissed at you and you started back in fear. Had it not hissed you never would have known That it was there, so green it was, so like The stalk it coiled about. You saw that one Because it hissed. But one that hisses not Is coiled about the world, as like the world As was the green one to the may-flower stalk. SELMA--I have heard father speak of it. He says That it is full of bones. OSWALD-- And souls of men. Only in holy houses are we safe. SELMA--He said that I should not go near the village In gathering berries. OSWALD-- 'Tis the serpent Sin. Oh, how its sting has marred the perfect world! Ready to spring, the fiends couch for us. We Are hunted, Father Paul says, through the world As was the deer the good saint saved, Saint Giles. And men are fleeing from the wrath to come. SELMA--It cannot come up on the mountain tops. OSWALD--(_Fervently._) Call on the Virgin. Yield to Lord Jesus. Do not reject him. Be baptized. Be saved. Do you not see that I would die for you? O Selma, playmate, loved one, promise me-- SELMA--I will not eat May-apples any more. OSWALD--Oh, not to understand and yet be lost! (_He walks away._) SELMA--I will not eat them, Oswald. I will not Go near them if you do not wish me to. OSWALD--Some day you will know why. (_He takes up his staff._) Then you will know It was not for myself. You will know why. (_He stops near the spring._) You will remember this--this day--these leaves-- The golden sunlight on the waters there-- (_Thoughtfully, looking down into the spring._) And never will come back forevermore. SELMA--Oh, yes it will. They will not let her grieve. The fairies, when they trip the wood to-night, Will miss her, for she dances with them there. Oh, you should see them, Oswald. When they dance She is no bigger than the fairies are. To see them swing-- Oh, 'tis a sight to make the wood-dove gay. (_Circling round in a dance._) _Lightly whirling round and round_ _Through the forest, scarcely shaking_ _Flower stalk upon the ground._ _In the leaves the violets waking_ _Scatter perfume. Fairies, bow;_ _Lift their purple hoods and kiss them._ _Join the dance and leave them now._ (_Ecstatically._)