[They are about to depart when the PRINCE starts, turns, and picks
  up the glove.]

THE PRINCE.  I dreamed such an extraordinary dream! 
  It seemed as though the palace of a king,
  Radiant with gold and silver, suddenly
  Oped wide its doors, and from its terrace high
  The galaxy of those my heart loves best
  Came down to me: 
  The Elector and his Lady and the—­third—­
  What is her name?

HOHENZOLLERN.  Whose?

THE PRINCE (searching his memory).  Why, the one I mean! 
  A mute must find his tongue to speak her name.

HOHENZOLL.  The Platen girl?

THE PRINCE.  Come, come, now!

HOHENZOLLERN.  The Ramin

THE PRINCE.  No, no, old fellow!

HOHENZOLLERN.  Bork?  Or Winterfeld?

THE PRINCE.  No, no!  My word!  You fail to see the pearl
  For the bright circlet that but sets it off!

HOHENZOLL.  Damn it, then, tell me!  I can’t guess the face! 
  What lady do you mean?

THE PRINCE.  Well, never mind. 
  The name has slipped from me since I awoke,
  And goes for little in the story.

HOHENZOLLERN.  Well,
  Let’s have it then!

THE PRINCE.  But now, don’t interrupt me!—­
  And the Elector of the Jovelike brow,
  Holding a wreath of laurel in his hand,
  Stands close beside me, and the soul of me
  To ravish quite, twines round the jeweled band
  That hangs about his neck, and unto one
  Gives it to press upon my locks—­Oh, friend!

HOHENZOLL.  To whom?

THE PRINCE.  Oh, friend!

HOHENZOLLERN.  To whom then?  Come, speak up!

THE PRINCE.  I think it must have been the Platen girl.

HOHENZOLL.  Platen?  Oh, bosh!  Not she who’s off in Prussia?

THE PRINCE.  Really, the Platen girl.  Or the Ramin?

HOHENZOLL.  Lord, the Ramin!  She of the brick-red hair? 
  The Platen girl with those coy, violet eyes—­
  They say you fancy her.

THE PRINCE.  I fancy her—­

HOHENZOLL.  So, and you say she handed you the wreath?

THE PRINCE.  Oh, like some deity of fame she lifts
  High up the circlet with its dangling chain
  As if to crown a hero.  I stretch forth,
  Oh, in delight unspeakable, my hands
  I stretch to seize it, yearning with my soul
  To sink before her feet.  But as the odor
  That floats above green valleys, by the wind’s
  Cool breathing is dispelled, the group recedes
  Up the high terrace from me; lo, the terrace
  Beneath my tread immeasurably distends
  To heaven’s very gate.  I clutch at air
  Vainly to right, to left I clutch at air,
  Of those I loved hungering to capture one. 
  In vain!  The palace portal opes amain. 
  A flash of lightning from within engulfs them;
  Rattling, the door flies to.  Only a glove
  I ravish from the sweet dream-creature’s arm
  In passionate pursuing; and a glove,
  By all the gods, awaking, here I hold!