TRISTAN.  Think’st thou thus! 
I know ’tis not so,
but this I cannot tell thee. 
Where I awoke
ne’er I was,
but where I wandered
I can indeed not tell thee. 
The sun I could not see,
nor country fair, nor people;
but what I saw
I can indeed not tell thee. 
It was—­
the land from which I once came
and whither I return: 
the endless realm
of earthly night. 
One thing only
there possessed me: 
blank, unending,
all-oblivion.—­
How faded all forebodings! 
O wistful goadings!—­
Thus I call
the thoughts that all
t’ward light of day have press’d me. 
What only yet doth rest me,
the love-pains that possess’d me,
from blissful death’s affright
now drive me toward the light,
which, deceitful, bright and golden,
round thee, Isolda, shines. 
Accursed day
with cruel glow! 
Must thou ever
wake my woe? 
Must thy light
be burning ever,
e’en by night
our hearts to sever? 
Ah, my fairest,
sweetest, rarest! 
When wilt thou—­
when, ah, when—­
let the torchlight dwindle,
that so my bliss may kindle? 
The light, how long it glows! 
When will the house repose?

(His voice has grown fainter and he sinks back gently, exhausted.)

KURVENAL (who has been deeply distressed, now quickly rousts himself from his dejection).  I once defied, through faith in thee, the one for whom now with thee I’m yearning.  Trust in my words, thou soon shalt see her face to face.  My tongue that comfort giveth,—­ if on the earth still she liveth.

TRISTAN (very feebly).  Yet burns the beacon’s spark:  yet is the house not dark, Isolda lives and wakes:  her voice through darkness breaks.

KURVENAL.  Lives she still, then let new hope delight thee.  If foolish and dull you hold me, this day you must not scold me.  As dead lay’st thou since the day when that accursed Melot so foully wounded thee.  Thy wound was heavy:  how to heal it?  Thy simple servant there bethought that she who once closed Morold’s wound with ease the hurt could heal thee that Melot’s sword did deal thee.  I found the best of leeches there, to Cornwall have I sent for her:  a trusty serf sails o’er the sea, bringing Isold’ to thee.

TRISTAN (transported).  Isolda comes! 
Isolda nears! (He struggles for words.)
O friendship! high
and holy friendship!

(Draws KURVENAL to him and embraces him.)

O Kurvenal, thou trusty heart, my truest friend I rank thee!  Howe’er can Tristan thank thee?  My shelter and shield in fight and strife; in weal or woe thou’rt mine for life.  Those whom I hate thou hatest too; those whom I love thou lovest too.  When good King Mark I followed of old, thou wert to him truer than gold.  When I was false to my noble friend, to betray too thou didst descend.  Thou art selfless, solely mine;