FELSMAN. Love me!

SEELCHEN. Thou art rude!

FELSMAN. Love me!

SEELCHEN. Thou art grim!

FELSMAN. Aye. I have no silver tongue. Listen! This is my voice.
[Sweeping his arm round all the still alp] It is quiet. From dawn
to the first star all is fast. [Laying his hand on her heart] And
the wings of the birds shall be still.

SEELCHEN. [Touching his eyes] Thine eyes are fierce. In them I see
the wild beasts crouching. In them I see the distance. Are they
always fierce?

FELSMAN. Never--to look on thee, my flower.

SEELCHEN. [Touching his hands] Thy hands are rough to pluck
flowers. [She breaks away from him to the rock where THE GOATHERD is
lying] See! Nothing moves! The very day stands still. Boy! [But
THE GOATHERD neither stirs nor answers] He is lost in the blue.
[Passionately] Boy! He will not answer me. No one will answer me
here.

FELSMAN. [With fierce longing] Am I then no one?

SEELCHEN. Thou?