Seelchen.  Gone! [She rubs her eyes; then turning once more to the rock, sees Felsman standing there, with his arms folded] Thou!

Felsman.  So thou hast come—­like a sick heifer to be healed.  Was it good in the Town—­that kept thee so long?

Seelchen.  I do not regret.

Felsman.  Why then return?

Seelchen.  I was tired.

Felsman.  Never again shalt thou go from me!

Seelchen. [Mocking] With what wilt thou keep me?

Felsman. [Grasping her] Thus.

Seelchen.  I have known Change—­I am no timid maid.

Felsman. [Moodily] Aye, thou art different.  Thine eyes are hollow —­thou art white-faced.

Seelchen. [Still mocking] Then what hast thou here that shall keep me?

Felsman.  The sun.

Seelchen.  To burn me.

Felsman.  The air.

     There is a faint wailing of wind.

Seelchen.  To freeze me.

Felsman.  The silence.

     The noise of the wind dies away.

Seelchen.  Yes, it is lonely.

Felsman.  Wait!  And the flowers shall dance to thee.

     And to a ringing of their bells.  The flowers come dancing;
     till, one by one, they cease, and sink down, nodding, falling
     asleep.

Seelchen.  See!  Even they grow sleepy here!

Felsman.  I will call the goats to wake them.

The goatherd is seen again sitting upright on his rock and piping.  And there come four little brown, wild-eyed, naked Boys, with Goat’s legs and feet, who dance gravely in and out of The Sleeping Flowers; and the flowers wake, spring up, and fly.  Till each Goat, catching his flower has vanished, and the goatherd has ceased to pipe, and lies motionless again on his rock.

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.