Not what has been, but that which is to be
Absorbs me now. Adieu to vain regret!
The bow is tensely drawn--the target set.
[A knock at the door.]
MAID (aside)
The night is dark and chill; the hour is late.
(Aloud)
Who knocks upon my door?
A Voice Outside
'Tis I, your fate!
MAID
Thou dost deceive, not me, but thine own self.
My fate is not a wandering, vagrant elf.
My fate is here, within this throbbing heart
That beats alone for glory, and for art.
Voice
[Another knock at door.]
Pray, let me in; I am so faint and cold.
[Door is pushed ajar. Enter CUPID, who aproaches the fire with
outstretched hands.]
MAID (indignantly)
Methinks thou art not faint, however cold,
But rather too courageous, and most bold;
Surprisingly ill-mannered, sir, and rude,
Without an invitation to intrude
Into my very presence.
CUPID (warming his hands)
But, you see,
Girls never mind a little chap like me.
They're always watching for me on the sly,
And hoping I will call.
MAID (haughtily)
Indeed, not I!
My heart has listened to a sweeter voice,
A clarion call that gives command--not choice.
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